Arena – (Re)Incarnation
by 7Blaze
Summary: [Very Dead] One hundred thousand souls within an incarnating radius, a painfully real pseudo-historical fantasy hell 200km wide. Our world is a reluctant audience. "Such methods of warfare are not useless after all." "Do you realise, everyone you know, someday, will die?" "There are no secrets in hell – not this one, anyway." "All this, for a dream?"
1. PRELUDE – STEEL OR LEAD

**[PREFACE]**

 **Welcome to the Arena.**

 **This prelude is reconstructed. Changes have thusly been made.**

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 **PRELUDE. STEEL OR LEAD  
** {2031.07.?, _Unknown_ }  
{0233 Universal Coordinated Time}  
{Undisclosed Location, Afro-Eurasian Continent*}

 _"Bigeye, we're moving in."_

 _"In position."_

 _"I see two rifles. Ten o'clock, three-twenty metres."_

 _"…Confirmed."_

A short outcropping shielded the crouched form of the marksman 'Joe' from sight, his DMR resting on top. The riflescope was a classic fixed 8x Trijicon, enough for his operational range. He shifted his aim to track the identified enemies.

 _Hover over centre mass._

 _Account for variables:_

 _windage,_

 _elevation,_

 _atmosphere._

 _Control breathing._

 _Pause._

 _Trigger._

 ** _KRAK._**

In the same instant that his finger twitched a single centimetre, a firing pin set off a primer that caused 2.8 grams of smokeless powder to ignite at an incredible pace, forcing a 10.7 gram 7.62mm diameter projectile through a 508 mm barrel and 213 mm suppressor.

 _It's a nice, cool morning. Far from the cityscape, but not remote. Good weather for the coming day._

Before the eyelid moved again— a spray of blood. It was done. _Trachea. Too much elevation. Tailwind._

 _Inhale. Shift. Exhale. Aim. Inhale. Adjust. Exhale. Fire. Sacrum. Better._

 _"Three more, RPGs and an LMG. One o'clock, four-thirty metres plus/minus five."_

 _"Copy."_

 _"…Clear to engage."_

 _Inhale. Shift. Exhale. Aim. Inhale. Fire. Pectoralis major dexter._

 _Exhale. Shift. Inhale. Aim. Exhale. Adjust. Inhale. Correct. Exhale. Fire. Manubrium._

 _Inhale. Shift. Exhale. Aim. Inhale. Correct. Exhale. Fire. Latissimus dorsi dexter._

Each mark fell, one after the other. His were the hands that flung copper-coated lead death, saving known lives by taking away others, unknowns. This man knew that his actions could scarce be justified by normal means – his marks were not those within return-fire range, not those who were openly attacking him or those he knew – and yet he curled his finger 'round the trigger all the same. He did not say why, and neither did anyone ask a reason of him. It was easiest, that way.

 _…_

 _Clavicula dextra._

 _…_

 _Medulla oblongata._

 _…_

 _Coeliac plexus._

 _…_

 _Pectoralis major sinister._

—~~~—

{2032.11.06, Saturday}  
{1339 Aincrad Standard Time}  
{An Incarnating Radius, Floor 1}

A greatsword of plain make sat in his hands, its smooth blade over a metre long and its hilt four dozen centimetres itself. It was decently balanced, hefty yet far from sluggish in the hands. The weapon was more than one would expect from a mere starter's blade, built with a rugged simplicity. He alternated between sweeping arcs, precise half-sword manoeuvres and furious murder-strokes as if holding his own practice blade in hand.

His downward cut, enhanced by the system, struck the skull of the «Feral Wolf» before him, killing swiftly and surely, a bright red gash left where he split its muzzle.

 _Heh. The combat mechanics are incredibly accurate – and yet different enough for it to be an entertaining challenge._

This moment of distraction meant that 'Joe' had no defence to offer the second lupine beast that attacked. His body flinched in reaction to the bite, rolling with the movement and thus loosening its grip.

 _Wait._

 _Where is the pain?_

There was a sensation of impact and numbness, a faint throbbing. But not pain.

 _Is there really no pain here in this virtual realm?_

 _… Not quite, but so close to it I can barely feel the strike._

A laugh escaped his lips then, brief and wry.

 _This is no difficulty. I've become so used to ignoring pain that the lack of it in this simulated world feels strange. Tour of duty was more tiring than this._

Barely a second passed before the sensations disappeared. With a fierce grin, he swept the blade to his left with a Strike that ripped the mob in two, spraying carmine shards across the grass.

"This «Realised World» is certainly shaping up to be something special, isn't it."

A habitual pattern – a small infinity loop with the point off to one side – was traced out before 'Joe' sheathed his sword. The value of materials he could gather from two wolves wasn't too much, but it'd be more than enough for a hunk of bread and a waterskin or tankard combined with his earnings from their prey.

 _Ah, there's a passel of «Wild Boar» over eastward. I can sell their hides for some coin._

He trekked towards the beasts, leaving the edge of the forest, and readied himself for another hunt.

—~~—

{1843}

Keening with system-enhanced energy, the illumined blade tore through the neck of the charging wolf. His well-placed overhead cut lined up its centre of percussion between the vertebrae, removing the lupine head from its shoulders with sickening realism.

In the moment of the kill, the fraction of time where the system released his limbs and the huge blade swayed through the last of its arc, a blur of grey leapt at his left shoulder. _A fifth?_ He braced himself against the attack and bit back a cry of pain as he felt teeth clamp down on his shoulder through mail and layers of canvas. 'Joe' controlled his descent to flow with the impact, letting the beast's momentum fling its unbalanced body to the ground. A sharp yelp left the «Feral Wolf» as its jaws were forced open.

A moment later, he had taken his greatsword in one hand and struck the mob with a furious rising cut. The blade split the lupine creature's skull in two, killing it instantly.

"Gah—!"

 _'Wounds are identical to reality,'_ it was said. He could see where teeth had damaged some of the links and feel his shoulder stinging with the thankfully minor pain.

His companion did away with the last beast in their own way before turning to him. The few words between them were all but emotionless, while they coped individually with the revelations made only an hour earlier.

There had been so much to take in. Not everyone thought it was real. Yet he knew in his gut that the so-called tutorial was no lie. The creator believed in what he made, what he did. To waste it all on a hoax would be to throw away a life's work; it made no sense. Disbelief would get 'Joe' nowhere. If the claims were false, then, before too long, it would end and the reality of his own world would return in full force. There was nothing in him that was truly against experiencing such an incredible world while he still could. If the claims turned out true, then he would have lived through this unusual hell – this deranged artist's impression of ideal made real.

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 **[POSTFACE]**

 *** This descriptor is vague for a reason, using a technically correct term.**

 **– The character of this perspective has not been properly named for a reason. If you can understand that reason, have a cookie.**

 **– As one might have noticed, this story has notably longer chapters than _(Un)Bidden Ventures_.**

 **– This version of Aincrad is not similar to canon (not least in its different year of creation/release) for many reasons. It takes inspiration from other works here on this network, but is not intentionally identical to any.**

 **∆ For the purposes of gauging interest and improving my writing, I'd appreciate reviews. Positive, negative, neutral; blunt, subtle – just be honest.**

 **{Amendment} The canon main character of Kirito will not be present beyond passing mention until Floor 01's «Floor Boss» is to be fought. Apologies to all those who anticipate his inclusion in the story.**

 **[Notable Changes:]  
2017.03  
** **• The pre-Aincrad scene has been trimmed and refined.  
** **• The Aincrad scene was edited to better suit other changes in the works.**

 **2017.06  
• Cut out the establishment of the pre-Aincrad scene, deemed ineffective.**


	2. GREETINGS – MAN OF WAR

**[PREFACE]**

 **Here is the first full-length chapter. It stands to be longer than any chapter I have written before, for good reason. (2016.10.24 publication)**

 _ **Song Selection:**_ **I** **f you want music to accompany your reading experience, 'Wide Open Sky' by Audiomachine is a selection I recommend, beginning after the first scene break. 'When It All Falls Down' and 'Wars of Faith' also by Audiomachine played successively are a good accompaniment to the scene beyond the second full** —~~~— **break. Or simply 'Wars of Faith' repeated.**

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 **GREETINGS. MAN OF WAR  
** {2032.11.06, Saturday}  
{1302 Aincrad Standard Time}  
{An Incarnating Radius, Floor 01}  
{First City and Surrounds}

 _What name to use? Arken, of course._

 _Now, customisation._

 _Physical changes. Keep age one short of two dozen years, same 182 height, 76 weight and wiry build – don't need to change those. My natural reach should be enough. Midnight hair in the old swept undercut, keep the tan skin and semi-aquiline nose, storm-grey irises but leave the eye shape, give the jaw some shadow to counter the naturally thick brows._

 _Starting clothes, non-armour. Hmm. Gainsboro long-sleeve tunic and ocean— no, Davy's grey close-fit trousers, thin gloves in gainsboro and gunmetal boots. Not much trouble there._

 _Initial skills, exactly five of them: «Perception», «Stealth», «Rhetoric», «Survival» and… ah, «Cartography»._

 _Oh. Here we go._

Blinding azure light filled his vision for a handful of seconds before the young man found himself standing in a large, circular plaza. The whole place reminded him of a few European cities instantly. Its many large and beautiful structures, such as the «Obsidian Citadel» that first graced his vision and the church opposite spoke of influences from old cities such as Prague, while its clearly planned nature – enhancing its aesthetics impressively – brought Versailles to mind, among others.

About him, he saw that many other players were arriving just as he had. Some spent time looking at themselves and their surroundings, while another part of the crowds were either hefting starter weapons experimentally or talking to other people. He looked around for a few moments, taking in what he could of the central plaza in this «First City», before heading straight for the markets, which could be seen branching off in all directions.

The bazaar was filled with thousands of people milling about – _perhaps a hundred thousand if memory serves._ Nearly everyone that Arken passed wore pale pastels or earth tones, rarely anything between. It almost surprised him that none wore black or white and that most had conventional hair colours, as if this weren't a fantastical multiplayer online roleplaying game. He wove through the masses to stand before an open-fronted weapons shop with rows of straight swords on display.

 _Now, what can 10,000 Cor get me by way of arms and armour?_

"Italian greatsword, if you'd kindly, with a slim sword for my side and eight knives for throwing as well. Nothing expensive, please."

The shopkeeper's speech analysis program took everything in stride, taking just one blink of virtual eyes to process everything and gather what he ordered. Some handful of seconds later, a utilitarian blade somewhere around three kilograms and more than a metre and a half from acute point to scent-stopper pommel passed over the counter, with half-sheath and complementary scabbard provided. Then came the one-handed sword – plainly hilted, with one finger-ring like an early sidesword – and eight small blades, built for use as projectiles. He paid the requisite 2,100 Cor for all his weapons with quick, sharp gestures through his interface.

 _This double-hander will need to be slung over my shoulder like a rifle while sheathed and unslung to be drawn, if I'm to move freely with it. Well. Not too much of an issue when I have my other blades. Aside from that, sword always at the right hip and half of the knives should sit at the left, with the others equipped elsewhere for emergencies._

The weight of his new weapons was a welcome feeling for the swordsman, although different to what he was familiar with. Immediately, he slid the one-hander from its place at his hip before he stepped out of the way of the next customers. As the hiss of steel on leather ended and it swung free, he mused on the design. _Not bad, not bad at all. Reminds me of that old Albion, really._ The man in grey nodded at its weight, balanced just under a hand's width from the guard, give or take. He returned the weapon to its scabbard as he made for the nearest armourer.

Half-sheaths were interesting things; not prominent in artwork and rarely seen on real greatswords, there hadn't been a general consensus on them for a while – and, really, there still wasn't. But he was someone who thought that they were common enough and decently useful, making unarmoured carrying and half-swording much easier in his eyes. The greatsword he had chosen, while it lacked side-rings, bore a half-sheath, attached to its crossguard by leather straps matching with the material 'round its wood core. As well, the blade's scabbard was made with the feature in mind, theoretically making it possible to draw over the shoulder. Not that he would try. _This blade isn't something I plan to use in emergencies._

Each of the throwing knives received a simple balance test as he walked, satisfying his expectations. _Enough length to penetrate a gambeson and then some, though they aren't the sturdiest._ With a dozen centimetres of surprisingly well-shaped blade each, they were certainly enough to be lethal within throwing range, but their hilts felt loosely put together. _Until I can afford better, I'll just have to live with these._

Within the armourer's, he was just as quick to select his purchases. The NPC inside bartered a far as base-level «Rhetoric» could get a player (60 Cor off the lot), but kept to the will of the system and allowed no lower price. Arken could tell when he had reached the limit of his skill and didn't complain or push any further.

Nine minutes later and a good 6,940 Cor lighter, the swordsman was ready to head off. He wore a mail habergeon and chausses with burgonet, gauntlets, and greaves overtop as well as padded jacket and trousers underneath. The sheer number of layers of material would have made anyone at least begin to sweat in real life – and he could feel fabric sticking damply to his skin. It surprised him; there was only so much reality that they could implement into a virtual world and yet they had included a bodily function (of rather superfluous relevance to virtual reality) such as sweat.

 _This «Realized World» is incredibly realistic. More so than I had previously thought._

 _Now, to what extent does real swordfighting apply in this place, I wonder?_

—~~—

Northward of that southernmost settlement some minutes later, Arken came to a halt beside the beaten path and simply stood where he was, greatsword resting on his shoulder. For a few moments, the swordsman took in the whole of the «First Floor» of Aincrad. It was more expansive than any other VR world he knew, stretching no less than two hundred klicks from one side to the other. From his rough measures, the city behind him was eleven klicks in diameter itself – which meant that it covered perhaps 0.3% of the Floor's surface area.

 _It's quite impressive._

 _But, then again, impressive is the single most suitable description of this entire virtual world._

Beyond him, a dense forest stretched the Floor's length on his left, out onto a mountainous region at the far end. It was nearly impossible to see more than thirty metres within at ground level, the trees too large and far too thickly growing for much better visibility. To the unwary, the dense woods may have been foreboding in appearance, but little else. To someone like the man in grey, it was clear the forest was rife with traps and vicious mobs – but not without rewards, either.

Opposite the holt lay a marsh surrounding a broad river. Lacking any plants larger than shrubs, it nonetheless made for a complex environment that the developers would have enjoyed creating – the depth below its visible surface could, by definition, reach up to six metres. It allowed for a plentiful and variegated number of mobs in the region. Not as many as within the forest, perhaps, but instead more dangerous to navigate. _Most definitely filled with rusalki and other monstrous beasts, not just regular animals. None of which I'd like to face on any given day_.

Dead ahead of him lay rolling hills that stretched at least halfway out to the immense 1,000-metre-tall columnar «Labyrinth» that stood barely visible in the distance, reaching up to the next Floor just as the two dozen «Great Pillars» did. The knolls ranged in height from a handful to some dozens of metres, with trees and other plants dotting them intermittently. Countless passive mobs openly grazed the greenery, as if to say that the straight road was the most efficient path to the far side. _Ah, but, because this game is suited to roleplaying, the possibility is not likely_. If the closed beta test (according to numerous forums) bore any resemblance to the final release, he knew those slopes before him became treacherous at dusk, roamed by a variety of aggressive mobs, including a selection of Mirka, the highest level creatures on the Floor by far, being bear-sized semi-humanoids armed with Migration Period European iron and bronze weapons.

As he took in the lay of the land, the swordsman settled into his customary guard, his blade angled rearward as he raised its cross above his shoulder. The man moved to grasp the hilt in both hands just as the blade took on a faint white glow and a soft keen reached his ears.

 _Hm? What is…?_

 _Ah._

He had inadvertently readied a Strike, keystone to the combat system, purely out of habit. Curious, he moved to execute it. The blade flashed down in a textbook diagonal cut, just as he had intended. Another attack from the same guard brought different results, as his hands directed the blade in a high horizontal arc. _I would not keep this pace for much time normally – however, with this…_

"Hah. I see how it works," Arken said to himself, a grin quickly forming on his face. "Not just a rote series of strikes, but a truly dynamic system of manoeuvres."

The man attempted a plethora of attacks he remembered from training in Francesco Alfieri's Spadone. To his amusement, he found that the system accepted every single manoeuvre he knew. _ARGUS really did consider everything the experts had to offer. Hat's off to them._

A brief test of drawing his hidden knives preceded his first throw of one. It required little effort on his part to launch a knife out as far as thirty metres with the help of the system. _Obviously not as far-ranged as a bow or suchlike, but it is more rapid than all aside from a repeating crossbow. It's all I need, really._ As a marksman with 6/3.0 acuity of vision, such a distance could scarce be called a challenge for him.

Last to draw was the one-handed sword, a Venetian-style weapon slightly more than one metre in length and built for a balance between cut and thrust. Its false edge was defined by a spur at the end of its ricasso while its true edge was marked by the finger-ring and a knucklebow. He swept the blade from guard to guard, letting the system enhance his motions as it saw fit, with a sense that it was a good choice. _I'm glad this is the sword that was first offered – it suits my preferences quite nicely._

—~~—

{1354}

Having stepped quietly into the wood, known as the «Occident Forest» according to his heads-up interface, he found it deathly quiet. There were very few birds about – and, of those, none were prone to singing. The other beasts that roamed within made almost no sound of their own, staying hidden from others either as predators or prey. It gave the place an atmosphere that all but screamed of that danger he had seen from afar. _A foolhardy newcomer wouldn't last three minutes if they set foot in here alone._

The man in grey was not foolhardy, though. «Perception» enhanced his senses: refining contrast of colours, sharpening sound and scent, improving reactivity to touch. _Nothing. Not a single soul here._

 _Wait. No._

 _One o'clock, fifty metres. A fellow player._

 _I shouldn't disturb them. Her, rather._

She wore a combination of fern green clothing and slate-grey hardened leather armour, with an ash-grey scarf that obscured her lower face, but not her short celestine hair or sky-blue eyes. Her weapons – a longbow and hunter's langseax – highlighted the fact that she stood around a head shorter than him. For a few minutes, he simply observed from a distance. _She certainly knows her archery._ _Keen form and steady breathing, impressive patience._

In a single motion born from apparent talent and practice, the archer nocked, drew and then loosed an arrow, aimed to pierce the eye of a doe that stood about thirty metres to her right. Nothing but the faint _thrum_ of a once-taut bowstring and that deer's brief, sharp cry reached his ears until he saw the lithe young woman step towards her kill. He paced to maintain the same distance from her, avoiding branches and loose stones on the ground to minimise what noise he made.

A moment before he decided to show himself, perhaps to talk, a shudder of branches alerted him to another presence. _What kind… is it a Mirka? No, we're much too close to the «First City» for their territory._

In answer to his question, a huge «Grizzly Bear» padded into view. Well over two metres from nose to rump and no less than six times his own body mass, it was immense and intimidating. His eyes widened and he reflexively unslung his spadone, though he caught himself before making any unnecessary noise. Simultaneously, the archer's head snapped 'round to see it – and she froze for a second.

Reflexively, she nocked an arrow, drew.

 _Aah. Don't miss._

As if the world were personally denying him, her projectile buried itself into the bear's nose.

He readied his blade as the ursine rose onto its hind legs and bellowed in rage and pain. Clearly expecting the possibility, she moved backwards at a steady pace and fired twice more, striking its neck and chest. _She can't expect that beast to die so easily now, not when enragement comes into play as a factor._

With another roar, it set back down on all fours and charged. At the same time, the man in grey sprinted to her himself, seeing her narrow evasion of the attack. The archer stowed her bow and slashed at the bear with her own blade, a fairly long but shallow cut. _I'm too far, dammit. Should've gotten closer. Aïe, if I can cross this distance before she falls then—_

An instant, a movement – the bear struck true. Knocked flat by its powerful bulk, the archer was done fighting and she knew it. But she wasn't about to die. Not when a tall grey blur leapt into her field of view, a length of steel flashing in the mottled light behind.

Without uttering a word, Arken snapped his blade up into its ursine jaw before it could reach her, a blow that caused it to stagger and drew its attention to himself. The brief delay was more than enough for him to send a murder-stroke crashing into its hip, just beside the tail, crippling its joined leg. As the bear collapsed to the ground, he brought his blade overhead and Struck the base of its neck with enough force to completely sever its head, scattering luminous red shards onto the grass.

The man in grey stood place for a few moments more, waiting for any other mobs. None came; they had avoided the grizzly's presence. He turned to the archer as he unslung his blade's scabbard again to sheathe it. Her scarf had fallen away, revealing her face. _She is beautiful, perhaps a few years younger than myself_. _I expect some large number of players excessively refined and improved their features, though I can tell she is not one of them. Hers is not a supermodel's face, not a thing so hyper-perfected, but a face with natural beauty that is simply not common. Like… Adi, in a way. But ice, not fire._

"You alright?" His voice cut through the near-silence – not loud, not soft, but firm.

A decidedly neutral expression sat on the young woman's face as she spoke, having already gotten to her feet and recovered her langseax. "Un. I guess I should say thanks for that. What's your name?"

 _Intriguing. Isn't one for too many words, certainly knows how to handle her weapons._

"Arken. Just Arken. And you?"

"Sinon."

"Mmh. You're quite a shot. Just need to be more watchful for random encounters."

"Hm. Thanks for the compliment."

"You're welcome. Mind if I join you for a while?"

"I don't see why not. It'll be interesting to see more of how you handle that blade."

—~~—

The two continued through the forest – archer with bow in hand, arrow nocked, and swordsman with great blade at ease, resting on his shoulder. No further aggressive mobs approached them for well over thirty minutes, something that had made the skinning of bear and deer much easier. But, even half a klick away from their previous location, the only animals they encountered were birds and the odd nest of insects or arachnids.

Arken eventually voiced his concerns. "Something's wrong. We should have seen at least one other large mob by now. A lack of wind means our scent shouldn't have travelled and we haven't left much by way of tracks nor made much noise."

"Yeah. You're pretty good at keeping quiet despite all that armour and I know how to cut down on the sound of my footsteps. There hasn't been a single deer in sight or, hell, even a rabbit or fox."

"I don't like this. Damn ambushes…"

"Mmh? Were you a beta tester?"

"No. A soldier."

"You aren't from 'round here, are you?"

"Un. Stay wary."

They were quiet after that, not wanting to disrupt each other's awareness. The man in grey flicked his eyes about, looking for out of place movements as he strained to pick up noises aside from the air currents high above and their own feet on the ground. _Nothing out of the ordinary. Doesn't ease my worries at all._

He was about to suggest finding a small clearing for a break when the archer suddenly grabbed his arm and dragged him into a crouch. Belatedly, he realised that he hadn't activated his «Perception» and promptly did so. Four faint red outlines immediately appeared at their ten, eleven, one and two, just over a dozen metres away. Their classic lupine shape and semicircle formation told him what they were: «Feral Wolves».

"Do you know combat hand signals?" Arken whispered, shifting his weight to let himself better manoeuvre from the crouch.

Sinon gave him a sharp nod. The man in grey let a smile play across his features briefly before he began to use them: _You Cover That Area. I Go Forward._

She gestured _OK_ and raised her bow to do as he ordered, apparently comfortable with holding a half-draw for however long he would be. He himself firmed his grip on the large blade and began to pad forward, making sure that he made as little sound as possible. The wolves spread to circle him, one of them moving to his four and another his eight while both third and fourth stayed ahead. Temporarily freeing up a hand, he gestured behind him, _I Take Left. You Take Right._ A solid nod in return preceded the adjustment of her aim to the beasts at his right as he inched towards the ones at his left.

Before he moved, he extended a hand to count down: _Three. Two. One._

—~—

His greatsword ripped a lupine head clean from its shoulders as a bodkin arrow leapt for another's heart. Precise smoothly continued 'round its wielder in a defensive arc as a third «Feral Wolf» leapt for the swordsman's neck. Steel met flesh at a rather awkward angle and cracked ribs like a pernach to make the beast change course, albeit not of its own volition. The mostly-conscious mob rolled twice on its landing, but was up on its feet much more quickly than he expected. _Must be the alpha._ _Definitely seems more resilient and capable than the others._

He saw Sinon, already sure of her first target's end, let fly at the last wolf's eye and strike true. It collapsed with a brief cry, the arrow buried well into its braincase. Arken closed on the «Alpha Feral Wolf», slashing its throat wide open with a cut sweeping in from his right. For a needless coup de grâce, he thrust his blade under the dying beast's jaw and into its brain. _Hm. Killing it brought more experience points. Nice to know._

The archer called to him with a voice no more lively than his own, "Hey. Still in one piece?"

"Un," was his reply as he knelt before the corpse of the alpha wolf, a knife ready to skin it. "I didn't receive any damage."

"I'm impressed. You know, hunting with you is starting to change my mind about going solo in this place."

Still engaged in the skinning process, the swordsman shook his head with a wry smile. "It shouldn't. I am only versed in party combat thanks to soldiering; anything similar to our co-operation takes much more effort than you'd expect. There are few players around with a similar quality of skill to either of us. Perhaps four, five percent – to be generous."

"That's still four to five thousand in this special release," she commented, skinning one of her own kills. "And there were a thousand Experts in the closed beta test."

A snort of laughter escaped him. "That's true. But my numbers still apply – and you should consider that most skilled non-Experts aren't going to be so inclined to hunting in a party outside of major battles."

"Un, I guess that's true."

"I'll let you get the last two. That bear from earlier gave me more than I need, anyway," Arken declared after some time, the «Alpha Feral Wolf» lying skinless at his feet.

The young woman glanced at him with mild surprise. "Oh. Works for me; I was after wolf pelts." She finished skinning the beast before her and moved to the next. "Though it'll go faster if you deal with the last one."

"True. I'll hand it to you when I'm done, then."

—~—

When they were finished, he kept to his promise and handed the archer his second wolf pelt. She thanked him quietly, still uncertain of his kindness. He nodded in return, an action that seemed to pull her from the distractions of her thoughts.

"Come on, grey man. We should get back to sell this stuff. There's never a shortage on the need for any and all hides – and your bearskin should sell a pretty penny, even without the head attached."

Arken followed after her with a question. "Did you just try to suggest I'm old?"

No answer was forthcoming as he moved to take point.

"You know, I'm probably not even five years older than you."

"Doubt it. I'm sixteen," Sinon replied without even a moment's hesitation.

Thoroughly nonplussed, he stumbled and nearly cracked his head on a rather large low-hanging tree limb. "You look and act hardly two years younger than me!"

"Thank you. Nice to know that the age slider is actually quite accurate."

"Apparently," the swordsman managed, turning his face away from hers. _Damn, I forgot about that thing. I hope—_

She tapped his shoulder. "Come on, Mr Soldier. Few enough people older than me act like I'm any more than fourteen."

"… Most people weren't as mature as you are at the age of sixteen." he finally said, turning back to face the archer.

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

The man gave a small shake of his head in reply. "You could call it that." He didn't want to bring that back.

Sinon nodded slightly, understanding. Then she clapped his back and nocked an arrow to her bow, saying, "Let's keep going. We're halfway there, I'd say."

"More than that. Two thirds of the way. I can tell you that just there," he gave a gesture to their left, to a tree stained dark by blood, "is where I cut down a pair of «Feral Wolves» which tried to surprise me earlier."

"Really? How'd that go?" The archer seemed curious as to how he handled a random encounter for himself.

"I have performed better counterattacks. I was too focused on ending the first to see the second one lunge, though I managed to free my arm from its jaws easily enough."

"Hmm. Well, thanks to your marker, we know how far we have left. Let's keep moving."

He nodded and took point again, pulling his great blade from its scabbard as he resumed walking back to the city.

—~—

Arken floryshed his blade to better pass the time. It wasn't intended for show – _though, if she cares to watch, it may just seem so._ Every move was well-placed, yet he never kept to a stance. He started with large arcs, sweeping all about him as if holding a bridge or hallway against various opponents. At one point, he adjusted his grip to half-sword, making swifter and surer cuts with the weapon as well as brutally quick thrusts that could break through many a guard. Every so often, he would include a pair of murder-strokes, as if to delineate between full-reach and half-sword combinations.

"Having fun, are we?" Sinon asked dryly after about ten minutes.

He finished with one last rising cut that transitioned easily to resting the blade on his shoulder. "Eh. It's just practice."

"You're pulling off Strikes left, right and centre while walking for _ten minutes straight_ and you call it 'just practice'? Are you crazy?"

"Well, I learned Italian Spadone for about four years before I joined the Army."

"Sou ka. Spadone is the Italian word for a greatsword, right?"

"Un. It's not much effort for me to chain Strikes because they're based off of real swordfighting."

"Huh. I guess you're good at that."

"Speaking of weapons of choice, how did you become so skilled with a bow? Have you done archery in real life? Or were you a beta?"

"I was a beta tester, yeah. I decided to take up archery recently, but it's only been about four months. Turns out that I'm pretty good, though."

"Mmh… What are the chances of the first person I met being in the beta test?"

"There were five thousand people in the beta test and about ninety-five thousand new people, though I don't think everyone from the beta could make it for the opening. So, a touch under five percent."

"That's a rather newcomer-heavy ratio between the two. Nineteen out of every twenty players today have not played an hour more than myself."

"You're right. Most times, a limited release is eighty to ninety percent new people, not something like ninety-five."

"Not that a one hundred thousand person cap is too much of a limit."

"It's 2032. Yeah, ten years ago, that figure would've been pretty much impossible. But now, near one hundred percent of people in the country have got optic fibre Internet – and big businesses like ARGUS and RECT Inc. have access to quantum tech that lets their servers process so much data simultaneously without suffering any noticeable delays."

"Good point. If we had the NerveGear back then, a twenty thousand person limit could have been reasonable. In a way, I'm glad Kayaba spent ten more years trying to perfect this."

"I am too. I wouldn't have been able to witness this kind of event ten years ago."

—~~—

{1517}

Back in the city, the two wove through the markets to find a good merchant willing to buy their materials. Most other players had dispersed, either out and about for themselves or wandering through other areas of this «First City». It made their journey much easier, and allowed the two to continue their conversation without raised voices.

"So, what do you do in the army? Since you admitted to not being from Japan."

"Well, I am a Japanese dual citizen. That aside, I'm just a grunt, an infantry marksman in the Australian Army. I took leave and travelled here for a number of reasons, one of them being to experience this," he gestured about them, "at least once."

"So you're a gamer at heart?"

"When worded that way, I would think to disagree – but I can't really say no."

"Heh, a soldier plays video games in his free time. Wow."

"Actually, I'm more of a reader than a gamer. I prefer good old-fashioned paper novels more than anything."

"Uah? I wouldn't pin you as a books guy."

"Looks can be deceiving, although I'm not against honesty myself."

"Sou da ne."

"By the by, do you think that buyer's any good?"

"Ehh, he's okay, but I know there's another 'round here who looks kinda shady but gets the best prices for his suppliers no matter what. He just doesn't stay in the same place for more than half an hour."

"Okay then. Tell me when you see him – I'll ask you if I think I spot him."

The soldier spent the next five minutes alternating between scanning the streets and taking in the views. It was clear that the developers had spent countless hours refining every detail in the city, perfecting the atmosphere of this largest city in the whole Incarnating Radius and making it as real as any place on Earth. _The smells of individual plants, the way light refracts and reflects in the waters of river and fountains, the feel of an autumnal breeze on skin… it's all so lifelike. As close to reality as the world outside. Children playing in the side streets, vendors spruiking their various wares, blue-collar workers going about their day's jobs, patrolmen watching everyone else with careful eyes while on their beat…_

"There he is."

Sinon's words pulled him from his thoughts. Her gesture led down one of the narrower alleyways, to a lank figure half hidden in shadows. _Certainly fits the '_ _s_ _hady' descriptor, in more ways than one._ He left his greatsword in its scabbard, but ensured he could easily access a knife and his one-hander with minimal movement.

"I see him," the man said to his companion, instinctively letting his strides take him in front of her ever so slightly.

"Slow down a bit, will you? It's hard to keep up."

"Ah, gomen," Arken apologised. "It's just habit."

She shrugged. "No problem. Just let me talk to the merchant."

"I'm not stopping you."

—~—

Ten minutes later, the swordsman and the archer were each a few thousand Cor richer. He was impressed at the fluency of her persuasion. _She must have used the «Rhetoric» skill in the beta, to be so proficient now. It was like she became another person._

The two then found a good smithy to upgrade what they could – he purchased a falling buffe visor and a better-quality habergeon, while she obtained a tougher cuir bouilli chestplate and a dozen javelins for backup.

"How's that visor-thing work? It looks strange."

"This kind of helmet, the burgonet," he rapped his knuckles on the steel, "is built to work with a falling buffe that you pull up to protect the face and neck if you want a visor. It's actually pretty easy to raise and lower. I couldn't buy one earlier without dipping into my emergency cash, so that's why I'm getting myself one now."

"Aah. Sou da ne," she nodded as he showed her how it sprang up into battle position and came down for out of combat.

Arken's eyes gleamed, his buffe lowered due to being in a «Safe Area». "What do you want to do now? I'm free until 7. I still have to eat in reality, but I've nothing else today."

"Let's just head back to the forest. With a map, so we don't have to worry about leaving trail markers so much."

"Alright, then. Since I have the «Cartography» skill, I can update whatever map we get easily enough."

"You do? That's good. Makes this much simpler."

"I thought it would be more useful than «Alchemy» and it means I'll be making my own maps soon enough. So, do you have a preferred mapmaker?"

—~~~—

{1718}

"How long have we been here?"

"About an hour and a half, if you mean the edge of the «Occidental Forest» in general. Seventeen minutes if you mean the area within half a klick's radius of that bush by the river edging out of said forest."

"Un."

"Two more minutes till the 22° halo begins to set."

The two were searching for a bear. Not just any bear, like the large grizzly from the random encounter hours ago, but a specific one: the «Great Blue Bear». It was said that this rare beast would only appear near the «Tulsequah River» just as the ring of refracted light around the sun sank below the horizon, thence the blue ursine would eat from a single salmonberry bush. Townspeople had rumoured that its pelt had strange qualities, making the beast near impossible to track and difficult to see when it was moving about.

They had decided to wait for the bear to come to its feeding spot and strike it from there, seeing as the bush was the only one near the river for about half a kilometre all around on one side. It would be impossible for an archer to hit the bear at that range – but, having approached the river from the far bank, they came to a quarter of that distance. The shot was far more achievable from there with the right equipment.

"You know, I feel like hunting a rare beast is a bit… I almost feel bad for the bear."

"Bears are predators, killing machines. Even endangered subspecies can kill."

"So are humans. Snipers are more efficient than bears have ever been. 'One shot, one kill.' And we feel bad when killing other people in self-defence."

"We feel bad because we know that they can feel more than other animals do, because in a lot of ways the other person is like us. Unless they're incapable of feeling emotion."

"Mmh. always an exception to the rule. Thirty seconds, now."

Both of them fell silent, «Perception» active as they searched for the ursine. He lay prone just behind the crest of a hill, while she half-crouched behind a lone blackberry bush beside him. There was no need for the protection of a helm when it could give away their position, so his head was bare. The swordsman inched forward, so that his grey eyes could glimpse further beyond the hill, and patiently scanned the riverbank near the salmonberry bush.

"Anything?" Sinon whispered.

"No."

She sighed, adding, "Check beyond the banks as well."

"I know how to scan an area," he quietly replied, tone showing his amusement.

"Yeah, yeah. Just—"

"Two o'clock. Two hundred metres, closing slowly."

"Where? I can't see…" the archer trailed off.

"Passing behind the two rocks on our two. Its fur certainly does make the «Great Blue Bear» hard to see."

"I… Ohh. Wow."

It was an impressive beast, but much smaller than the last bear she'd seen in this forest. Its silver-blue pelt shimmered with the fading light in a way that blurred its outline, at the same time highlighting its rarity. Powerful muscles rippled under dark fur, showcasing its nature as a predator. There was no doubt in her mind that the bear was a rare sight, quite likely a unique creature.

"Can you make the shot?"

"Maybe."

"The wind blows downstream, left. Five kilometres per hour, give or take a fraction."

"How do you know?" She whirled her head to him, surprised he could discern so much from what little they had to go by.

"I'm a designated marksman. Not a sniper, but a clean second best."

"Ah."

He was silent for several seconds before declaring, "The target has reached the landmark."

Sinon had to line up the shot now, or the opportunity could disappear. Arken heard her control her breathing and almost _felt_ her change in perception of the world around them. _A sharpshooter is a machine. She is one._

The young woman drew, aimed, fired.

 _THRUM._

Her arrow flew above one hundred and twenty-seven metres of soil, stone and water before it buried itself behind the jaw of the «Great Blue Bear».

"A «Crippling Blow». Congratulations."

She lowered her bow, and the unspecific sensation in the back of his mind faded. "Thanks."

"It's still alive, though. Let's move in and finish this."

"Un. Let's."

They rose from their positions and unhurriedly strode to the stretch of river shallow enough to ford across. Arken held both his sheathed swords so they wouldn't be soaked by the water swirling just above his knees. Scabbards were built to resist moisture as well as other forms of wear and tear, but he didn't want to chance it. _In modern video games, it has become increasingly common for every item to be damageable._ Sinon followed suit, keeping her bow and quiver in hand to ensure they were above the currents flowing past her mid-thigh, langseax nestled amongst her arrows.

"It's not moving," Sinon pointed out.

"You likely severed one of the jugular veins, though not the carotid," he replied as he reached the riverbank. "Which would mean that it's bleeding out slowly and a bear's equivalent of delirious from pain."

"Sou da ne…"

The swordsman climbed the bank easily enough, returning his blades to their places as he scanned the area for threats. He turned to the archer and offered help, receiving the quiver as she climbed up the slope. It was returned to its place by her hip, opposite her seax, as they continued to where the «Great Blue Bear» had collapsed.

Both could see that its HP was well into the yellow range, at roughly thirty-five percent and decreasing by one point every few seconds.

"Do you want the honours?"

"I'll let you do it. Up close and personal isn't really my thing."

"Well then."

With no further ado, he thrust his sword into the bear's throat, next to her arrow buried at least ten centimetres deep. The beast tried to cry out, but the wounds in its neck made the act difficult. He twisted the blade to open the wound further before he properly severed its spinal cord, dealing the «Critical» that killed it. Bright carmine shards shed from the digital corpse, some clinging to his blade – they were shaken off with a flick of his wrist.

"That was… anticlimactic. You'd think a rarity would be harder to kill," Sinon eventually said, her tone measured.

He nodded once. "A lot of fights are like that. I've gotten used to it."

"Un." She retrieved her arrow from the bear's neck and cleaned away the shards that represented blood in this place before returning it to the quiver at her side. "I'll keep watch while you skin it."

"Thanks."

He quickly drew one of his knives and set to work, methodical and careful yet not painfully slow. _Firstly, cut away what is worthless before anything else._ It was quiet about them as he skinned the «Great Blue Bear», the sunset-reddened sky slowly darkening as some of the wildlife went to sleep and other beasts rose to begin their hunts. But no new sounds met their ears and no new movements were caught by her «Perception» aided eyes as he worked. Not even an owl's faint hoot or a fox's slinking form.

"Something's up. We can see for the better part of a kilometre in all directions, or more, but there's no movements or noises. Aside from the river burbling, it's dead silent out here. Even more so than just before the wolves attacked us."

"I can tell. Keep your longbow ready."

"It is. And it's almost 5.30, which means we should head back once you're done."

"Well, I am now."

As soon as he stood up, the [Rare] item that was the bear pelt in his inventory, an intense _noise_ shook them, as if they stood right next to the bell atop its tower in the expansive central square of the «First City».

"Uah?!"

"Steady!"

Before either could say or do anything more, they were met with assault on all senses: intense white light like a stellar flame and the pungent scent of fresh blood, as well as its metallic taste on their tongues, to go with that unbearable din pounding their eardrums. A heartbeat later, the ground underneath fell away, replaced by nothing for an entire terrifying second. Some kind of strange pressure on their limbs accompanied it as they were whisked away from their location to another. In and of itself, they found that forced teleportation was utterly frightening – to say nothing of what would follow.

When the phenomenon passed, they were greeted by a hundred thousand other souls.

—~~~—

' _Breathe in the familiar shock…'_

 _Cascading murmurs._

 _Trembling bodies._

 _Anticipation._

' _The confusion – and chaos…'_

 _Questions on every mind._

 _Dumbfoundedness. Disbelief. Dissent._

' _All those people, going somewhere…'_

 _Immobilising horror, petrification._

 _Wait._

 _No…_

 _No._

 _NO._

 _NO!_

 _ **NO!**_

 _ **I WILL NOT—**_

—~~~—

 **"News outlets across the globe are providing twenty-four hour coverage of this situation. To provide them with accurate data on the events that transpire here, I have included virtual recording devices in various locations throughout the entirety of Aincrad, as well as individual devices following each player. They will be constantly streaming realtime high-quality audiovisuals of each interesting event, simultaneously over multiple channels as is necessary for the audience."**

'… _Best seat in the house tonight…'_

 **"Although everything is permitted, for the sake of your audience no intentional acts beyond the certified rating for this «Arena» of 16+ will be allowed in public locations such as general «Safe Areas». This will be enforced. Within privately-owned structures such as inns, houses, barns and the like, the recording devices will be inactive and the system will similarly enforce nothing."**

'… _Why have I never cared?'_

 **"Every character model within Aincrad is anatomically correct, human and nonhuman both – down to the placement of blood vessels and nerve endings. Pain felt by injuries will be exactly as is found in reality. Wounds will heal at a much accelerated rate, but nonetheless require proper and substantive medical treatment. Substances within Aincrad will produce identical effects."**

' _I know who I am, my dear—'_

 **"You may ask, 'Why this?' … My answer: 'The goal was to create a world of my own design, made as true as possible.' With the public launch of my «Arena», that goal has been met. The «Great Incarnating Radius» is complete, ready to fulfil the purpose it was created for."**

'— _I'm a wanted man…'_

 **"The «Tutorial» has ended. Players, we wish you best of luck."**

—~~~—

The uproar was unbearable.

Ninety-nine thousand four hundred voices making all manner of noises – shouting, shrieking, sobbing.

It pounded on a twenty-three-year-old man's ears.

A sixteen-year-old young woman kept beside him.

Neither moved amidst the thousands of the crowd.

Until—

 _Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?_

 _…_

 _' Live.'_

 _GO._

 ** _MOVE._**

With a sudden burst of energy, epinephrine and norepinephrine flooding his body, he picked her up bridal-style and flowed through the mass of people. With much practice in avoiding contact in crowds, he evaded everyone between his initial location and the edge of the huge square despite his speed of movement. Nobody noticed him.

Even when he was free of the crushing masses, he barely slowed. The man continued until he was over a thousand metres from the city square. At that point, he slowed to a brisk walk, conserving his energy. _It's twenty-six kilometres to the next town, she told me. I can make that distance in four hours with this equipment if I don't stop, five if I do meet trouble. Although this is real, with maiming, death and all else he mentioned, I won't tire as I do in a real hike; fatigue, like all other somatic responses here, is purely artificial. Four or so hours isn't much trouble, that aside._

The young woman stirred once he reached the city's northern gates, so he set her down quickly. Her eyes – a colour like ebony wood, similar to her jet-black hair – glanced about with uncertainty until they focused on his own, which were roughly a metre from her own. Recognition came quickly, as his hazel eyes, the same orbs of subtle emotion, were the only major contrast between his avatar and true face. Undercut midnight blue was replaced by sable crew and thick stubble by a clean shave, but they were inconsequential when the sky was dark and a helmet encompassed his head.

"Hey," he began, softly. "You're back."

"I… I don't want to be. I'd rather be gone."

"This is scary as hell, I know, but you're going to get through this."

She shook, tremors in her shoulders and jaw that carried to her hands, her voice. "I– I can't. There's no way…"

"Listen. You can. You **will**. Even if you don't trust anyone. You're a survivor. You've stared death in the face and lived another day. Only a person who's done the same knows. The way you handle yourself speaks volumes of your strength, even though you can't see it."

"No. **You're** strong. I'm just a sixteen-year-old who's trying to become strong."

"It is because I've lived longer and grown much over the past few years. I wasn't even half as capable as you at sixteen. You'll make it. Don't be so afraid."

"… You think so?"

"More than just think. Know."

"Okay." A calmness came to her, slowly, and she stood up. "Let's go."

"We're headed for «Horunka». You fine with that?" he asked, freeing his greatsword.

"I'll run with it. Fill me in as we go."

"Follow me and keep your longbow ready."

While she wasn't certain why, he understood how people in masses worked and knew which was the best option for them to take. It was obvious to him, really. Not simple, but nonetheless plain as day.

The most aggressive would commandeer the hunting grounds around the city, hoarding as many resources as possible to build themselves up. The most passive would hide away in inns – either not wanting to believe or not wanting to face the truth – until their money ran out. Those in between would either try to get somewhere, wait until something happened or simply give up.

But the smartest – the cunning, the wise and the less personable beta testers – would move on to the next settlements post-haste. Far fewer other players would be there, meaning that the surrounding hunting grounds would be much less contested and readily available for them to build up all of their Proficiencies much more quickly.

He wouldn't call himself cunning or wise, nor was he a beta tester, but the soldier _knew_. The final option was clearly best for both himself and his young companion.

—~~—

{1749}

"Hey, Arken?"

"Yeah?"

"What— UAAH!"

"Sinon?!"

No response came.

Hastily, he vaulted back over the huge rotting log to where she was. She had fallen – slipped on the moss atop the thing and smacked her head on the ground. Blood poured from a wound at her temple, slow enough to not be lethal but too fast for a mere graze. He pulled out a bandage, a wound dressing and a skin of _aqua vitae_ he had purchased for antiseptic. The soldier quickly set to work, cleaning the small wound and neatly wrapping the bandage about her head to hold the dressing.

Up close, he could better see her features, which were more her actual age than her avatar's face had been. A slightly smaller nose, less full lips and a softer jaw that would have him place her age more accurately were the greatest differences. Hair darker than his own – partly collected in twinned bunches – framed her face, along with a loose fringe that reached between her brows, much as it had when it was the colour of ice-blue crystal. The subtle differences reminded him she was seven years his junior.

… _and remind me of a younger sister I once had._

Once he was finished, the man in grey worked out how to carry her past the fallen tree and promptly did so, knowing it would be better for them to make camp where the ground was more even and they could see further in all directions. He set the markswoman down by the log, where the grass was tallest, and rolled her to a recovery position. The swordsman took a moment to assess their surroundings before letting his mind wander. Sinon lay at one end of the six-by-nine metre clearing that was devoid of obstructive roots and rocks, while he stood roughly in its centre. Each of the trees at the edge were far slimmer than those elsewhere, realistic signs of the forest trying to reclaim the open space.

 _In an arena where everyone and everything is hostile, we still have to worry about random injuries and resulting loss of consciousness. It's a pain that would almost be too realistic for a game, but not for this world. The infamous genius that is Kayaba knows these things – what differs between reality and a game – and balances them quite beautifully. I have a measure of respect for his ability and vision, but it doesn't impact—_

A low growl interrupted his thoughts, echoed by multiple others.

"Oh, _merde._ There's **seven** of you."

The swordsman's «Perception» highlighted the septet of «Feral Wolves» in a near-perfect circle about him. One stood dead ahead, the others at his seven, nine, eleven, one, three and five. _Tactics say the wolves at my back will leap first, given the alpha standing before me._ His greatsword came to hand as he slowly stepped to the centre, weapon glinting in the dusky light. It had been trued and sharpened again when they had returned to the city of their own accord earlier in the day, so its edge was clean and straight.

Knowing that he was most likely to survive by moving first, he sprang to end the largest lupine with a swift thrust to the neck. It jerked to one side in a last-moment attempt to evade, but the man in grey had expected it. He twitched his forearms just enough to spear the beast's throat and sever its spine, a «Critical» that killed it quickly and surprised the others in the small pack, shattering their cohesion. A hunter's grin formed on his visor-hidden face as he turned their assault on its head.

The blade came free of the corpse in one hand as the other hand threw a knife to pierce a lupine eye almost directly behind him. As he predicted, the other «Feral Wolf» behind him closed first, leaping nearly half the distance between them. To the beast's misfortune, Arken was no slouch in bringing the blade to bear in one hand – his free hand returned to grip the hilt even before his blade cut at and into the skull of the wolf. A furious system-enhanced «Crippling Blow» resulted, cracking its jaw and fracturing its braincase.

Two wolves from one side closed the distance as his weapon ruined the third in their pack. The soldier adjusted his grip to half-sword the blade as they moved to tackle him, crouching to keep his centre of gravity low. Like a viper striking, his blade darted to lash out at each one in rapid succession: slicing through one's right shoulder and then smashing the other's nose, stabbing into the first wolf's eye and spearing the roof of the second wolf's mouth with the crossguard. _Four dead, one crippled. That leaves—_

Before he could turn to deal with the last two, they slammed bodily into him – one aiming for his neck, the other his right knee. They took him down, pinning him under their combined weight.

 _ **"** **SCHEIßE!"**_

The wolves attacked the mail about his nape and knee-pit, causing damage to muscles and veins while he tried to throw them off. He couldn't push up with his arms when one was stuck under a lupine foreleg, but he could strike at something with the pommel of his great blade, which he'd kept in his left hand. Realising that, he twisted his arm and smashed the scent-stopper-shaped metal into a hard object. It turned out to be the hinge of the wolf's jaw, which cracked audibly on impact. _Ah._ A sharp yelp with reflexive back-pedalling signalled the release of his right arm.

In the same instant, he exploded upwards, flinging the other lupine from its grip on his leg and driving his right elbow into the first wolf's ribcage. Their pin broken, he sprang to his feet and closed on the wounded one – a swift, brutal stab that buried twenty centimetres of steel into the brain, an instant-kill «Critical». The second tried to attack him from behind again, but he voided the lunge and brought the centre of percussion of his one hundred and fifty-seven centimetre weapon crashing down onto its upper spine, crippling it. He ended its virtual life by driving the point of his sword into its medulla oblongata, that vital part of its central nervous system at the base of the brain.

" _Bloody hell_ … I don't want to deal with odds like those again, Kayaba. If you're even paying attention to this."

—~—

Unsurprisingly, there was more than one observer focused on Arken; he was one of the few that had left the city as soon as possible and actually did something interesting. First noted in one corner to keep an eye on them, both him and her. Second and third simply sat where they were and stared, motionless and emotionless. The others let out low whistles or held hands over their mouths as he sheathed his weapon, double-checked that every wolf was dead, assessed his injuries and walked over to the archer. Not that he actually cared what they did. His audience couldn't benefit him from their position.

What he cared about, at that moment, was that Sinon was conscious again. She was glancing about, trying to see in the failing light. He crouched down to let her see his features, pulling the visor away. Hazel eyes met ebon ones, held gaze for a moment.

"You're aware and moving. That's good."

She brushed fingers to the side of her head, feeling the bandage. "…What happened?"

"You hit your head, slipped on the moss. Let me help you up." His hands reached under her arms; with a louder grunt than he'd like, he hoisted the markswoman to her feet.

"Uah, thanks… wait, are you okay?"

"I'm still in one piece," he replied, knowing he looked like he'd been hit by a bus. "Nothing too serious, though I just dealt with seven «Feral Wolves». The armour's actually pretty good for a basic level."

"Seven? By yourself?" As he nodded, the man realised that she had yet to properly look around, at the dead beasts and their drying blood spilled like a cleaner's nightmare. Sinon clearly didn't believe he was fine, but his HP bar still sat in the green – though not by much. "You really do know how to fight."

Arken shrugged. "It wasn't my best by a long shot, but I'm glad to be still alive and whole of body afterward. That reminds me, what do you say: leave them or skin them?"

"Skin. The NPCs always buy wolf pelts."

"Then let's get to it," the soldier said, drawing a knife to begin. "Wolves aren't the only beasts roaming these forests, as you know, and it's still early in the evening."

When they were done, the archer took her longbow in hand and nocked an arrow. "Let's get going. You need to be fixed up and it does us no good standing around like statues."

"Un. If you see anything out of place, tap my right shoulder twice, slowly. I don't want an ambush like that again."

"Twice slowly for a threat. If I need something else?"

"Just once."

"Once for personal, twice for any threats. Got it."

—~~—

{2012}

When they eventually came within ten kilometres of «Horunka», the two gradually increased their pace, wanting to reach the «Safe Area» as soon as they could. It was tortuous to travel through the forest during dark hours, especially with basic-level equipment and weaponry. He held his sidesword in one hand and a throwing knife in the other, senses heightened as he moved through the «Occident Forest» at a constant two metres ahead of her. She held a pair of arrows in her draw hand while another sat nocked and ready, less than a quarter-second away from flight.

None of the creatures they came across for a thousand of those metres were mobs even remotely likely to attack the two. A fox scampering away, an owl silently gliding overhead, a nightingale taking wing rather than choosing to sing. It put them on edge, having to push through the ambient noise and movement to discern predators from prey.

One sound made Arken throw a fist up to halt. She complied without a sound, scanning the area with eyes and ears enhanced by the system as he did. They were immobile for fifty-nine seconds before it repeated itself – the _thump_ of a biped about his own weight on the grass. _That is, my weight with only padded armour… There._

 _A player. A longswordsman, by the weapon's size._

Using combat gestures, the man in grey said, _One Suspect, Armed With Sword. Ten O'clock. You Cover That Area._ The archer raised a brow, expression less discernible in the dappled moonlight, before she aimed her half-drawn bow in the direction indicated, ready to let fly. Arken sheathed his sidesword, opting for a single knife in case of a ground fight.

Padding closer to the other man, the soldier deactivated his «Perception» to minimise his own chance of being detected. Even the faint glow of the system's enhancement would be obvious in this light. It made locating the swordsman more difficult, but the «Senses Index» of his «Stealth» skill rose by five percent to eighty-seven in favouring him. Few would be able to detect him, especially so early on in the game.

At the same time that he reached the area where the other man had stood when detected by his perception, the near-imperceptible crunch of a boot adjusting its position alerted him to a lunge from his right. He dropped to one knee, placing his gauntleted fists on the ground to stabilise his upper body and keep his weapon away. The leaping figure slammed into him with an _'oof'_ of air escaping lungs, not expecting such a manoeuvre and promptly falling over his crouched form because of it. He spun to the winded figure and took a stance that placed his boot lightly on the slight youth's right shoulder as he placed the knife edge at his assailant's neck. To render the left hand useless, the man pinned wrist tendons under his other foot with enough pressure to be effective but not lastingly painful.

"Trying to outfox a soldier doesn't work even half as often as it does in fiction," Arken stated with a dead tone. "Speak your player name and reasons – and don't try anything on me, I know every possible escape and won't play nice."

It wasn't easy to discern the younger man's reaction, as he spoke calmly: "Didn't think there was any escaping this one. Well, I'm Kirito. A solo player. Since you've asked, the reason I tried to attack was because I thought you were tailing me. Apparently, you weren't; sorry about that."

"I thought the same of you," the soldier replied, freeing the other man and showing his face. "Nice to know I was mistaken. My name's Arken. Currently working with an archer until we reach the town. If you're not against it, I wouldn't mind you joining us."

"Mmh, I don't know…" the longswordsman shrugged once he was on his feet, head turned away from the other man to hide his expression. "I'm not so good with people."

"You don't have to worry. We're loners ourselves, only grouped until we hit «Horunka». Enough to get a good start, but not anything permanent."

"Ueh… I guess I'll stick with you then. This'll get me there faster than by myself."

Satisfied that they were agreeable, the soldier gestured _All Clear_ to the archer, who responded by lowering her bow and closing the distance between them.

"So, who's he?" The young woman gestured with her chin to the other swordsman. She noticed he wore a similar mail hauberk and chausses to her companion, but over thinner padded garments. A much less complex barbute sat on his head and a classic longsword at his hip, along with a dirk and half-dozen javelins, further distinguishing the two beyond the ten centimetres height difference.

Arken faced her as he began introductions. "Sinon, this is Kirito. He's solo, but agreed to stay with us until we reach the town. From how he handled himself earlier, he should be a solid fighter." He then gestured to the archer as he faced the other man, "Kirito, this is Sinon. A sharp markswoman and my companion for the past six hours, she's also someone who knows a lot about this place."

"Didn't seem much of a fight to me – but, if you say he's good, I'm not gonna question it," the archer stated, appraising the longswordsman harshly.

A _'tch'_ preceded the soldier's relay of his prior analysis. "The «Senses Index» indicated that over eighty-five percent of observation would fail to discern me, yet he was able to pinpoint my location so as to execute a surprise attack that would have caught most anyone else. And he was smart enough to keep his primary weapon away from the grapple when most would never stow theirs, let alone his instinctive knowledge on how to take a fall."

"I see. Well, let's get going – the night's not getting any younger and we've still got a long way to go."

Kirito gave him a strange look before Arken raised his falling buffe again. An approximation of a smile flickered across the younger man's face then, before he drew his longsword and picked up the rear after the others began to move out.

"Standard tactical hand-arm signals apply. No voices from here till the town. Understood?"

"Un."

—~~—

{2138}

«Horunka» was a rather average town in terms of population, at roughly 15,000 people, though it was built to hold against pillagers. The heart of the town was quaint in a way that would be endearing in about any other circumstances, like a European town from the early Renaissance frozen in time. None of the structures was awkwardly anachronistic – rather, they were all designed to the same theme in such detail that each had its own unique character. The eyes of the soldier observed the various qualities of a strongly-defended town that he saw in its workmanship: a stone wall taller than himself three times over, main gates of iron-bound logs, at least a dozen guards manning just one side of the wall and a number of heavy weapons mounted on the turrets at regular intervals along its outer edge.

"If you want to go your own way now, then by all means. Both of you." He had lowered his falling-buffe to make it easier for them to hear his words, but not taken off his helmet – something he seemed to prefer.

His two «Unit» members paused for a moment before deciding, looking in opposite directions before stating their choices.

"I think I'll stay with you for a little while," the archer said. "You're a good hunting partner."

Another lull preceded the longswordsman's decision. "Eh, I'll be going. Still am a solo player. I wouldn't mind meeting again another time, though."

"Of course. See you another time, Kirito. I expect to see you at the far end of this Floor, whenever we reach it," Arken nodded.

"Un. Bye, Arken. Sinon." The youth turned and went on his way, heading west.

When the black barbute was lost to the crowds, they headed off for a smithy that the young woman knew was a quality workman. Her brief explanation of the town told him the east side was where those well-to-do people lived – such as merchants and the mayor. Thusly, those shopkeepers and craftsmen stationed in that area were generally better at what they did, though not all.

"On the west edge, well away from the two town gates, is a forge that houses a strange man with surprising skill in blacksmithing. It's difficult to get him to do any specific work, so most of the beta testers ignored him, but I would think that Kirito was one of the few who used his services."

"With that information, I would as well." The soldier knew little about the man, but an appreciation for the unusual was something he was sure that the slight youth had – somewhere under the walls he put up around himself.

"I only stepped inside once. It was a… unique experience, I'll admit. But the forge-master I already frequented was more suited to my way of things."

"It isn't surprising in the slightest. You are a no-nonsense person, incredibly efficient. Nothing you do wastes energy, nothing you say is pointless."

"Thanks. And we've arrived, it's just here."

He let the archer lead him into the large stone-walled building.

—~~~—

{2032.11.07, Sunday}  
{0757 Aincrad Standard Time}

He sat under a tree just outside the town's wall, watching the sunrise. _Who would believe an infernal place could be beautiful?_ His greatsword was supported loosely by both gauntleted hands, with its point sunk in the ground between his crossed legs and its guard resting on his forehead. Arken had spent the night out in the heart of the «Occident Forest» grinding, building most of his Proficiencies to 10 or so out of 1000 and reaching Level 2. Not one encounter lasted more than three minutes the whole night.

Now, he rested his limbs, waiting for the day to break. Muscles ached with an undeniable realism, sweat stuck skin and shirt together, lips dried out and cracked, eyes strained and wavered. If he had not been awake and aware when he entered, the soldier would have thought this a strange new place that he had inexplicably arrived in. It was as real as the reality they were used to, if not for the system interface.

 _You're a bloody genius of a bastard, Kayaba._

The soldier sighed, eyes closed as the world slowly grew warmer.

"This is our reality, now." It was hard to believe.

 _Reality for ninety-nine thousand four hundred and twenty-eight people. All for a deranged genius's wish to play god with his «Realised World». And he tells us that we are live on show, perpetually. Like the fscking Hunger Games. But this is a deathmatch that few will want to watch, when no wound is small and every part of the virtual body is anatomically correct. Death will not be bloodless here, outside of poison and asphyxiation. And yet, he included a nudity regulation subsystem; small mercies in hell. I would laugh if I did not consider the thing so useful. This world is more real than our old reality was, for all the wrong reasons._

Amidst the sounds of pseudo-nature about him, Arken heard the faint crunch of grass underfoot – a sound he had come to easily discern out of habit as much as training.

—~—

"Nice view, eh?"

"Sou desu ne."

She didn't seem concerned that he had heard her even though she had tread lightly as she approached; finely-tuned senses better identified people moving about him without the use of his eyes. He could pick out a slight yet telling inflection that she placed on the last word, but it seemed more a personal preference than a tic or speech impairment.

After a few moments, she broke the near-silence.

After a few moments, she broke the near-silence.

"D'ya want to know something?"

"…"

"Well?"

"If it won't cost me any Cor, then by all means."

"Smart one. But this piece's free."

"Can't be too sure."

"Un. Anyway: yer clearly set ta be solo. Has a nice ring to it, sure, but it's more 'an most can handle. If ya need, I can set ya up with a group of good players – for a small fee."

"Really? I'm used to worse. Twenty-four hours' continuous, no respite? That was Monday, last fortnight."

"Sou ka? Well, yer either experienced or cocky. Knowing what I do, I'd say the former an' not the latter."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Noted."

It was only then that he turned his head to see her face. Half was hidden by a lightweight cloak's hood, but the man in grey could see the wry grin. In turn, his mouth curled in a faint smile of his own.

"Arken."

"Argo."

He lifted the sword from its position and stood up, simultaneously turning to face her. The weapon came to rest on his shoulder while she continued.

"Yer good at sensing movement, as well as handling yerself in a fight, from what I've seen."

"Eh. It's habit."

"Neh? Not heard that one before."

"I tried not to stand out while still being able to stay alive in a fight when growing up. Some things became subconscious as a result. They turned out useful when I joined the military."

"Hn. Well~"

"I'd rather that stayed unknown."

"There's always a price for info."

"I'll source all of my information from you, if you would. For everything I need to know, I'll see you about it."

"Sure. One minor favour, paid in full."

"Quite the wit you have."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Yer sure ya'd rather stay alone?"

"For now, I'm certain."

"Then I'll be off."

"Wait."

Her footsteps halted as she half-turned back to him. "Neh?"

"I'd like to know something. I'll pay if you think it's worth it."

"Go ahead."

"For the… «Floor Labyrinth». Labyrinths, every single one. What will it take?"

"I'd appreciate some clarity."

"What are we going to need?"

"Equipment? Skills?"

"People. A general commander? A tank leader? Who will suit each one the best?"

"That's… well. That's normally something ya'd pay 500 for, at least, but – what with yer promise to source only from me – I'll give ya this for free."

"Thank you."

"'Course, a fightin' force needs someone in charge. Ya know the leader type: confident in everyone, sharp, well-spoken, tactical. But they'll need ta be good at fighting as well, or at the least have someone under them that is. If not, there won't be much leadership by example. And that's something a lot of people will need."

"They will."

"A good tank'd hafta be willing ta put themselves on th' line for others more than anyone else. Or be so sure of their defences. Can't be any other way."

"That is true. But it is not my point."

"Neh? What d'ya mean it's not yer point?"

"I'm willing to pay you to figure out who, among the people who step out of the «First City», could fulfil those roles. If a party leader has the right qualities to lead more than a dozen people. If any of the combat groups are good at what they do. No matter if they're beta testers or not."

The broker paused a moment, processing the request. "Yer sure? Quite the undertaking, there. Won't be cheap."

"I'm certain," the man in grey affirmed. "And Cor will not be an issue if I am out hunting fourteen hours in a day."

"…don't even know how much this'd cost."

"500 for every day you spend on this before the halfway house of this first «Labyrinth»."

"… Ya could buy yerself a nice set o' armour for that much, if it comes to it." She was right. They had next to no idea how long it would take to clear each Floor, with the difficulty of keeping alive, but many weeks was likely.

"Even though I work by myself, I do not ignore those around me. Also, if the right people know, it will be more than one man's good armour that comes from this."

"Would it be 500 at the end of every day, or what? How's this gonna work?"

"The whole payment on the day we finish mapping to the halfway house. You can do the math yourself."

"Un. Ya have a deal."

"With this much coin being bandied about, I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"Some'd doubt that ya can meet the final value. I don't."

"I appreciate the second vote of confidence."

"Noted. Now, I should get goin'."

"Mmn. Stay wary."

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **[POSTFACE]**

 **– Thirty-odd pages of writing later, here we are.** **From ten thousand to one hundred thousand, from an incident unknown to outsiders to a perpetually livestreamed event, from a somewhat realistic game to a reality that is only game in name. Every change has been deliberated on thoroughly.**

 **– Norepinephrine is a neurotransmitter derived from dopamine that increases alertness as well as arousal, enhances memory retrieval / formation and focuses attention, though it increases restlessness and anxiety. Epinephrine is derived from norepinephrine, but is a different organic chemical.**

 **– Song lyric excerpts are from Brandon Heath's 'Give Me Your Eyes' and NEEDTOBREATHE's 'Wanted Man'.**

 **~ Canon-established character perspectives will be used in individual chapters of this story.**

 **[Notable Changes]  
2016.12  
** **• Increase in total diameter of Floor 01 from 100 to 200 km.  
** **• Decrease in total population of Horunka from 55000 to 15000.**

 **2017.01  
** **• Cut down of reference to weapon specs. [157 cm total; 110 cm blade, 44 cm hilt.]**

 **2017.04  
• Removal of full song lyrics, having been deemed unnecessary.  
** **• Arken now weighs in at 76 kg. More thorough referencing deems the value more accurate for his intended physique.  
• Removal of avatar build stats in their entirety. Too much complexity in specialisation, given the bent towards reality in other aspects.  
• Strikes are now the core of the combat system, not Sword Skills.  
• Alterations and amendments to Arken's background have been made.  
• Instead of a collection of connected lakes, the Orient of Floor 01 is now a marsh.**

 **2017.06  
** **• Renamed the «Black Iron Palace» as the «Obsidian Citadel».** [Not exactly major.]

 **As ever, commentary is welcome.**


	3. GREETINGS – REAL VIRTUALITY

**[PREFACE]**

 **Chapter 2 of the GREETINGS Arc. Following another character, as promised. Enjoy the next eleven thousand words, if you will. (2016.12.05 publication)**

 ** _Song Selection:_ If you want music to accompany your reading experience, 'Impurity' by Kaizen and Yoe Mase would suit the opening two scenes well. 'Entropy in Reverse' by Yoe Mase suits the scene following the location transition as well.**

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **GREETINGS. REAL VIRTUALITY  
** {2032.11.05, Friday}  
{1612 Japan Standard Time}  
{Sayama City, Saitama Prefecture}*

The end of the week was here.

Asada Shino was glad for just one thing that it brought. The return of «Sword Art Online» – no longer its closed beta, but the limited-access Special Release. It was the pinnacle of VR games, let alone VRMMORPGs. For nearly three years, the greatest leap forward in VR technology that was the NerveGear had been without a program, game or otherwise, that took full advantage of its still-unmatched power to create and recreate with a quantum processor that outperformed all manner of machines from past decades. ARGUS, creators of the NerveGear themselves, had been poised to remedy the issue with SAO, the VRMMO of epic proportions that was no less than fourteen years in the making – almost as old herself.

It was incredible to think that one man's vision had stood so long, such that it grew into the impetus for the game of the century. Yet it was Kayaba Akihiko's singular and unwavering dream that was genesis for SAO. He had led the developers at ARGUS for the past dozen and two years, shaping and refining the «Realized World» of his unique Incarnating Radius into a masterpiece on par with the greatest works of humanity 'round the planet. The man had created something so impressive that, despite comparatively minimal advertising and commercial promotion, the fruits of his labour were known all over the world and desired by millions. Few could claim a similar feat.

Shino was surprisingly happy, almost _smiling_ while she made her way home. The place so real was coming back the next day. After two long fortnights without that escape, only twenty-one hours separated one hundred thousand other people like herself who had received access to that single most highly anticipated of realms. That simple fact helped her get through the day.

 _It's not so far away. Not too far. I can survive a few more hours. That's nothing._

 _Only a few hours. Just the rest of today and half of the next. Nothing major._

 _I'm almost home._

Home for her was a one-person apartment, simple and spartanly furnished but home nonetheless. Stepping inside was a three-step process of slotting the key, punching the ten-digit code and then turning both key and door handle with a light shove to get the decade-old hinges moving. Its characteristic groan was comfortably familiar, a 'welcome back' that never failed to greet her when she walked across the threshold. A brief hallway opened onto the multifunction lounge/dining/study and simple kitchenette, with the bathroom/laundry on the left and sole bedroom to the right. It was a typical single-person flat, only featuring the odd piece of individuality to make it personal.

She went through her routine of preparing her next meal and organising what studies she had to do over the weekend, knowing from years of memory how best to cook her food and the most efficient way to structure her schedule. First, to be done with it, a close study of volatile manner.

—~—

"Uegh…"

 _Day 209, mid-afternoon. Failure: catastrophic. The handgun just… was too real this time._

 _I can't. Even though it doesn't have a magazine. Even though it clearly lacks a slide. Even though it's a quarter of the weight of a real one. I…_

It was the furthest thing from an improvement. Shino knew that. For the past week, she'd been able to at least hold the Beretta 90two-inspired toy for seven or eight seconds before she had to stop. Today, after that incident, she couldn't manage even half of that.

Not two seconds after she forced her fingers to wrap 'round the rubberised grip, she lost control over herself – her eyes lost focus, legs trembled uncontrollably, skin soaked with cold sweat, hands refused to unclench.

And she was unable to stop herself from screaming at the all-too-fresh memories—

 _Sickening precision. Three critical shots: kidney, aorta, cerebrum._

 _A shriek. A bloody wreck. A sickening, gurgling deathrattle._

 _Distress. Torment. Ostracism. immense. indescribable. indefatigable._

' _It's the murderer!'_

' _Get away from me, murderer!'_

' _Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!'_

' _MurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurderer_ _ **MurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMurdererMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERER**_ _ **MURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERER**_ '

 _Tokarev TT-33— no. Norinco Type 54._ _Black Star_ _._

The clean-up afterward was brief, but longer than it had been before. Afterward, the sixteen-year-old slipped into the shower, where she could truly relax and wash away the stresses of the day.

—~—

The patter of falling water soothed, a white noise that let her relax and forget those troubles she had. It was a welcome respite from the world – a place of simple mindlessness where nothing mattered, nothing changed, nothing was needed or desired or expected and nothing was more or less than itself.

A scene of the day's incident cut through her mind, bringing a shudder. She suppressed it with an increase in the personal rainstorm of perfect temperature. Steaming spray struck smooth skin, massaging tense muscles and scouring unwanted thoughts. It was a catharsis she relished.

The young woman was not one to sing very often, whether in the shower or elsewhere, but the song that came to her was one she had always remembered. It was as old as she was and a strangely poignant piece. Her voice was well-suited to the harmony, such that it was impossible to discern an accent through the English lyrics.

" _Don't worry my friend, it's all just a game anyhow. See you on the other side._

" _See you on the other side._

" _See through broken glasses – no longer it says that we need to thrive._

" _We don't need to thrive…_

" _See you on the other side…_

" _What you want's not always what you need; you stab my heart, you watch me bleed._

" _You go about it a different way; you don't talk much, unless you wanna play._

" _We don't need to thrive; we don't need to thrive, need to— we don't need to thrive._

" _We don't need to thrive…_

" _We don't need to thrive…_

" _See you on the other side."_

After over ten minutes of simply letting her bare skin be scalded by the deluge, Shino properly scrubbed her body and washed her hair. The young woman worked methodically through the process, wasting no movement and expending no excess effort. It was second nature, as easy for her as basic rapid-recall multiplication and division.

Routines, schedules, plans; systematic and purely efficient operation was her forte, her mind's way of working – and of coping. Mind over matter, logic over emotion. Letting her thoughts wander and feelings rule was dangerous, the young woman had enough trouble with other people yanking her suppressed memories back into the limelight. Stumbling over them on her own and promptly breaking down would do her no good.

When she finished, the sixteen-year-old was quick to turn off the shower and dry her body – though she stopped at one point to note her figure in the mirror. With a lack in real friends for the past number of years, she had close to no idea as to whether her appearance was attractive, but, in truth, her lithe form was more eye-catching than she would have thought. It was something that Shino had noticed to a small extent in the «Sword Art Online Closed Beta»: the few changes between her real-life appearance and her avatar seemed to be enough for various fellow players to comment on her looks frequently. A raise of the age slider by half a dozen years and a small number of adjustments for taste was all it took.

The moment of self-examination over, she slipped on her change of clothes and padded out of the bathroom with her mind set on the next part of her routine: technical escape.

—~—

{1635}

The young woman had found that her apathetic stoicism was a wall that stood strongest in FullDive, where she could truly be the cold and calculative machine. The NerveGear had a plethora of games she could play, though «Sword Art Online» was unreachable until tomorrow. In its stead, she chose a somewhat similar game: «Asuka Empire».

Within its bounds, she was a renowned «Bowmaster» capable of feats that would suit an action film or shounen anime thanks to the combat system. Her skill was only paralleled by a handful of others, just two of whom were fellow archers. Seeing any of them would be enough to let her forget the troubles she had. The chip slotted into place with a satisfying _click_ a moment after the Ethernet cable, prompting her to ready the operating system and slip the steel blue motorsports-inspired helmet over her head. As the processors warmed themselves up, she thought about how it would feel to return to SAO in twenty or so hours' time. _In its own way, I feel like I'd be returning to an old friend's home after a few years apart. Things will look the same, but at the same time be different…_

The final tri-tone that signalled it was ready brought her back to the present.

"Link Start."

—~~~—

{2032.11.06, Saturday}  
{1323 Aincrad Standard Time}  
{An Incarnating Radius, Floor 01}

Sky-blue flashed two dozen metres from the hind. Confused, it raised its slim head and tried to locate the blur again. Finding nothing, it blinked and turned back to graze. In the same moment, a soft _thrum_ sounded – and the doe fell with a cry as an arrowhead sank a dozen centimetres into the middle of its throat.

"Hm. I was aiming for the brainstem."

Sinon strode over to the crippled «Red Doe» and pulled out her hunting knife. It tried to let out an afflicted moan, but was too feeble for even that. With a huff of derision, the young woman removed her arrow and killed the beast. Red shards trickled in streams from the wounds in its neck even after it was clearly dead, highlighting the realism within the virtual realm. The archer shook some of them from her blade before squatting down to skin her kill, taking her time to be sure that the resulting pelt was of high quality.

She heard the creature before she saw it. Not its deep growl, but its loping gait crushing grass and fallen leaves. Seeing it only confirmed to her that it was a «Feral Wolf» – just one, but nonetheless a predator that wanted to steal her spoils. The forest allowed for only a four-metre arc radius centred around her, too close for most archers but too far for an engagement with her hunting knife to favour her.

"I'm not letting you take this, you know."

Her longbow was quickly in hand again, an arrow nocked before the wolf had taken more than two steps in its attempt to circle her. Upon seeing the weapon, it growled much more fiercely, baring its teeth and standing erect with tail quivering. _Definitely wants to take my kill from me. It's not scared at all – though it should be._

The woman stayed within her mental realm of ice, where logic reigned and calculation was everything. In the moment that she sensed the lupine beast about to leap for her, she drew and released, relying on her instinctive aim to direct the projectile where she wanted it to.

A satisfied smile crept onto her face as the beast fell before her with an arrow buried into the roof of its open mouth. The type of «Critical» she had succeeded in was a rare one, especially for a longbow-wielder at close range. She slowly extracted it from the wound and cleaned the bodkin head before returning it to the quiver at her hip.

"Not the brainstem either, but close enough."

Sinon's knife resumed slicing through the deer's pelt, eventually finishing the job before she moved on to skin the wolf.

—~~—

{1352}

"Another one?"

She kept her voice quiet as she readied the bow, somewhat surprised that she could kill two deer in the space of an hour. Light footsteps in leather boots carried her closer to the beast with almost no sound. As she selected an arrow from her quiver, the archer felt a corner of her subconscious tell her that she was being watched. Her «Perception» revealed nothing, however, so she continued with her hunt.

 _Breathe. I am a machine. I am impeccable in precision, unparalleled in accuracy. I succeed where others fail. I am the sharpest shooter._

The arrow that flew from her longbow sailed true, sinking into the eye of the «Red Buck» that was her mark. It continued on to pierce the fore-end of the cerebrum, a «Critical» that killed near-instantly.

"Keh. Better than last time."

Keeping her bow ready in case of an encounter, Sinon moved over to her kill. A moment's pause spent searching brought no recognisable outlines to her attention within a dozen-metre radius of her position. Believing herself safe enough for now, she turned her attention to the dead «Red Buck» before her. It was still a nagging sensation in a corner of her mind, that she was being watched, but the young woman pushed it aside while she deftly used the knife to skin her newest prize.

When she was close to a fifth of the way through her work, a slight shaking of the ground beneath her announced that she was most definitely not alone in this stretch of the woods. _Oh no. That can only be one of three mob types, none of which I want to face right now. Well, two types, since one's only found on the far side of this Floor. But that's hardly a comfort._

Sure enough, a huge «Grizzly Bear» lumbered into view, sniffing after the deer she had shot. Her head whipped 'round to see its full bulk and she paled. It was thrice her size, easily. About twice her height, and with scores of kilograms of muscle dedicated to the purposes of moving and killing. Although it was a virtual beast in a virtual realm where nothing was real, the primal fear that she felt was very real. A different fear to the mind-shattering trauma she knew, but nonetheless an immense emotion that warred with her rational mind.

The young woman nocked, drew, fired.

Whether it was her fear, her luck or the niggling thought that she was being watched by someone, her aim was off by a few centimetres. Instead of the eye-piercing «Crippling Blow» that would have stunned the bear and made it easier to kill, her arrow buried itself right into its nose – something known as an «Aggravation» for obvious reasons.

She had to move quickly if she wanted to defeat the mob with two and a half times her HP. A pair of arrows crossed the distance to her target, taking away 35 of its 500 hit points. The hunting knife came to hand as she slung the longbow over her shoulder, able to do more damage when the beast charged her. It likely wouldn't be enough, but it was all she had. Sinon managed to avoid being run over the first time that it barrelled after her, but her knife was unable to deal much damage in return. Thinking only to kill it, the archer closed the distance between them and landed a far more successful blow on its upper back, slicing off over twelve percent of its health.

But now she was too close to get out of the way. With a thunderous bellow it crashed into her, sending her flying back two metres and tossing the knife from her hand.

 _Damn. First death on the first day of limited release because of a random bear encounter. So much for improving my skills since then._

A grey blur, about the size of a man, flashed into the clearing. Before she could register what it was, a length of the blur whipped into the bear's jaw and promptly stunned it. _A player?_ The next attack slammed into its hip, rendering the leg useless. To finish off the now-crippled beast, the grey arced their weapon into its thick neck, cleaving right through and causing fragments to spray from the stump.

 _That's a new player. Not a beta tester, I know every single one with that kind of skill, but a newcomer. Who would have that kind of strength? Where does it come from?_

For some time, the other player – a serious-faced, tan-skinned man in his twenties with grey eyes and blue-black hair – stood where he was, like a living statue. He had a plain-looking European greatsword in his hands that nevertheless seemed to glint with life. The armour he wore was iron mail that shimmered dully in the dappled sunlight, along with a visorless helmet split into two symmetrical halves by a fin-like crescent of steel. He wasn't that handsome, a sharp jaw his most defining feature, but he was still more interesting to look at than the average man. _Chances are he's barely changed his real face. Most people would try to improve their looks to some idea of perfection, but he still looks more or less normal._

The archer, having assessed the swordsman, stood to her feet and retrieved her knife. Even after that, she still found him motionless – though he was tense as a taut bowstring, ready to leap and lash out. It was only after half a minute that he sheathed his weapon and spoke, his voice strangely both deep and clearly projected.

"You alright?"

It was not an overly worried tone, nor a completely indifferent one. He cared enough to see her still alive, but not so much that he tried to be appealing or fatherly. _Unusual, in a nice way._

Her reply came easily, as neutral as his own: "Un. I guess I should should say thanks for that. What's your name?"

"Arken. Just Arken. And you?" _Maybe he's got a military background. That'd make sense._

"Sinon."

"Mmh. You're quite a shot," he commented. _So he_ _ **did**_ _observe._ "Just need to be more watchful for random encounters."

 _Random encounters. Never liked them._ "Hm. Thanks for the compliment."

"You're welcome. Mind if I join you?"

 _No, I don't mind; thank you. You, your strength is… very different to what I've seen before._ "I don't see why not. It'll be interesting to see more of how you handle that blade."

—~~—

{1539}

"Here's the mapmaker's."

It was a narrow shop, lit purely by candles aside from the half-metre-square window beside the door. The walls were covered entirely by shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, each holding countless rolled sheets of vellum. A stale musk hung in the air, enhancing the atmosphere of a place rarely accessed and best left undisturbed. Sinon knew not to touch any of the scrolls, knowing that the storekeeper was touchy about people mishandling his works, and had already warned Arken about it.

"Oye. Who's there?" The voice was a grating tenor, rough like sandpaper. Its aged owner was similarly unkempt, his messy gunmetal hair left unchecked and his pale blue eyes wavering from strain. She knew he was an NPC and not actually a real person, but her initial reaction on meeting him for the first time was to comment on his hunched back and crooked neck, which looked to give him spasms of pain at odd intervals. He'd laughed it off, saying there wasn't much to do about it now.

"Sinon. I've brought a new friend. He's Arken."

"Little miss Sinon? It's been quite a while. I almost thought you wouldn't ever come back."

"Well, I did tell you I'd have to return eventually. Once I'd gone as far as I did, I said I'd come back to get a more detailed map of everything here that you've seen."

"That you did, didn't you. Well, do you want just one for the two of you, or one each?"

The question was valid, but it still made her pause, unsure of how to answer. Surprisingly, Arken chose the moment to speak up.

"One each, if you would. We're like as not to spend most of our time apart – and I'm slowly learning how to make my own maps. I'd like to see how a skilled cartographer's finished work looks in comparison to my own attempts, and learn what I can from that while I continue my journeys."

"You would, eh?" the old man muttered, before being interrupted by a flash of pain in his back. "Well, then, I'll let you buy one of my properly detailed works on the cheap to show you how far you have to go."

"Thank you for this, sir. I'm not sure how I would repay you, though."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Just care for it and use it wisely. I can tell you're not one of those idiots that wants to change the whole world by doing some fancy things with his weapons, so I know you'll make good use of my best stuff."

"Arigatōgozaimashita. I will keep it well and be sure to utilise it appropriately."

Sinon was quietly stunned while the conversation continued without her. _He's got the «Rhetoric» skill as well. And he's used it as skilfully as I have. This man becomes more intriguing the more I see._ She eventually spoke again, "Well, I have to thank you as well, Yashiro-san. I didn't think we'd be allowed to purchase one of your best maps."

"Who said I was only letting your friend Arken here get a top-quality map? You can buy one too, miss. Only sixteen hundred for both."

It was another surprise, that two highly detailed and durable maps would be sold for any less than two thousand Cor. The swordsman was quicker than her, completing the transaction before she had gotten further than opening her menu.

"Wait, I didn't pay for any of it."

"I've a larger sum of Cor in my balance than you, not least because of your eloquence in commerce. Think of this as my payment in return."

"Oh. Thanks," she mumbled. _Always pays his debts, then._

The mapmaker, who had always asked to be called Yashiro, was surprisingly quick in collecting the two maps for his customers. He personally placed the rolled vellum in their hands, his firm grip perhaps the only sureness in his body.

"Your purchases. Thank you for your patronage; may your journeys be ever interesting."

—~~~—

{1812}

She was a different person now. No one in Aincrad knew her real name – but, with the appearance of Shino replacing that of Sinon, she felt much less the cold markswoman and far more the frangible teenager. The soldier, now hazel-eyed with close-cropped sable hair, didn't seem to care for the sudden change; to him, player and avatar were the same person. It was an uncommon belief, but true enough: wear a mask for long enough and the line between underneath and overtop blurred. Whether that meant boon or bane was up to the mask as well as the masquer.

In her case, the mask meant both while the masquer was undecided – an impasse.

 _Am I myself? Or am I the person they see?_

Only she could say, but the answers and the truth cut their ties long ago.

The archer had let her thoughts take her away from the situation, relying on Arken's impressive senses to locate any dangers. But that same small corner of her mind was calling again, saying that they were being watched. To ease her suspicions, the young woman adjusted her stride to lazily spin 'round, eyes and ears enhanced by her «Perception» skill. _A person who expects nothing sees nothing, but one who suspects something sees everything_ – and, surprisingly, one such something graced her vision.

 _Is that…? No, not her. Two male players, armed with pole weapons. Getting close would be messy, with Arken's blade. Should keep them well away._

Two taps, slowly.

"Hey. Did you want to take a two-minute break? We're half of seven away from the «First City» and it's a quarter past six." It was a basic way of concealing information that happened to be relevant to the state of things. The real message she gave him was _Two Suspects, Six O'clock, Seven Metres._

 _OK._

After his brief gesture-based response, he continued forward a few steps before eventually saying: "Do what you wish. I won't stop you."

 _No 'leave it to me', no 'try this' – not even 'make it quick' or 'keep it quiet'. Carte blanche. How I do this is all up to me._ He didn't care for any of that, didn't think that she needed help with this task. His words applied to both the overtop and underneath conversations with identical meaning.

"Eh, I'll keep at it for a bit longer." _But that reminds me, I never asked._

One tap.

"Yes?"

"What did you say in the plaza?"

" _Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani._ My God, my God, why have you forsaken me." He didn't even flinch.

"So, you're a religious man?"

"I won't say no."

"Mmh." She turned once more and noted both of the figures again, this time more easily seen with her «Perception» focused on them. _One's about as tall as Mr Soldier here, likely broader at the shoulders, with a voulge. The other's more my height, slightly built and armed with a quarterstaff. Fast and faster, since they've got light armour. Smaller will be hardest to fight at present range, larger will be worst in a mêlée. This'll definitely be a tough one._

"Is everything still under control?"

"For now."

He nodded, blade still casually resting on his shoulder. "Don't take too long."

Sinon collected a pair of arrows – a bodkin-point and a bilobate broadhead – from her quiver to supplement the bodkin she already had nocked, leaving them in her draw hand for easy access. _I can't tell what kind of armour they have, but, if it comes to it, I'll be ready for whatever it is. A padded jacket like Arken's would most likely catch a bodkin, but not a broadhead at this range. Silk is strange for polearm-wielders, nothing else should pose too much of a problem._

For the next minute, she waited. They moved, split up to take either side. There was no doubt in her mind that the soldier ahead of her knew exactly what was happening, nor did she distrust her thoughts that the two were aggressors – but almost certainly not beta testers. A beta would know that her pointman was a force to be reckoned with simply by glancing at him. No sane person would be relaxed in any way after what happened earlier. Knowing that, if someone looked to be completely at ease outside of a «Safe Area», they were either mad or feigning it to hide skill – and it was more likely the latter if they were headed for the next town.

 _At the same time, he trusts that I have the ability to do this on my own. I know I can, but it's harder with someone else to think about – which is the point, I guess._

When the two attackers seemed ready to execute their ambush, the archer acted. Her first arrow flew for the voulge-wielder's hip, its flight arrested by the padded jacket and leggings that shielded the pelvis. The force of impact nonetheless caused him to lose his footing and double over, giving the archer more than two seconds to engage the staff-wielding young man. That amount of time was an eternity when in a fight.

Two-thirds of a second were all Sinon needed to launch both arrows in her hand. Her hunting knife was in hand while she closed in, even before the results. The bodkin was deflected to one side by the staff's rear, grazing a left floating rib— as the broadhead sank into the rightmost lobe of the liver. A curse escaped the wounded youth and made him throw his hands out in an attempt to arrest his collapse. Her stout blade slashed his shoulder in the remains of the second, cutting through the muscle that supported his weight. Muting the cry of pain with a swift head kick while she sheathed the knife again, her second of two was spent choosing and nocking another broadhead.

In the moment she aimed at the broader man, he was just under three metres away and ready to strike. His lead foot dug into the grass as the pole-cleaver swept 'round to bury itself into her lower spine— when her broadhead slammed into the crook of his elbow with enough force to arrest its motion and force his hand open. Unguided, the voulge swayed into the ground as the man's howl rang out, only to be cut short by a greatsword pommel to the jaw that quickly benumbed him.

The archer saw Arken return his blade to its sheath as his target slumped to the ground, a holographic pop-up declaring the blatantly obvious status of [UNCONSCIOUS] floating above the insensate man's head.

"I had him," Sinon said, retrieving her arrows.

"You did," the soldier agreed, cleaning the wounds she left and bandaging them to mitigate infection and blood loss. "But I didn't want him drawing attention with all that noise."

"Good point."

—~~—

" _Cinder and stone, brick and mortar; everybody folds, up against the water…"_

The words were hard to pick out, but she could hear the notes his voice formed well enough. It was strange that he chose to sing, considering the circumstances. But the archer wasn't against it, either – so she let his low tones carry on.

" _Memories rust and trophies fade… The remnants of our glory days… Will we regret the thing that we've made? And, from your table, I can see a better way."_

The piece seemed to end there, with lyrics that raised questions in her mind, as he was silent for a long whole afterward. _Hm. I wonder why he chose that song. It's… unusual._

When nothing more was said for two minutes, Sinon spoke up. "You sing well."

Arken's stride faltered for a moment so brief that the young woman almost missed it. He continued a few metres before replying, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

 _Well, that worked_ _ **brilliantly**_ _. Good job, there, me. Couldn't have done it any less smoothly if I tried. Now there's nothing more I can say on this topic without looking even worse. He's not going to say anything on it either, considering how I put it._

"…Mind if I sing another?"

 _What._

 _Uhh._

 _Yes?_

"Nah."

 _Pfffz—_

Aah!

 _No! Bad self! Bad!_

Before she could reprimand herself further, Arken began, softly but with intensity.

" _Yesterday is a wrinkle on your forehead. Yesterday is a promise that you've broken…_

" _Don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes; this is your life and today is all you've got now – yeah, today is all you'll ever have…_

" _Don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes— This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, are you who you want to be? And this is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?_

" _Yesterday is a kid in the corner. Yesterday is dead and over…_

" _This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?_

" _Mmh-hmn…_

" _Don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes, don't close your eyes—_

" _This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, are you who you want to be? And this is your life, is it everything you dreamed it would be when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?_

" _And you had everything to lose…"_

Sinon found it hard to speak suddenly, her vision blurred by tears that had sprung up of their own accord at the same time. The words hit home like a jackhammer, slamming emotions into her mind over and over even after the last had faded. With an effort that felt Herculean, she calmed herself down and cleared her eyes. It was a gracious gesture that the man in grey had slowed to a halt as he sang, because she was barely able to walk a straight line when he ended that first chorus.

After some long silence, she was able to trust that her voice wouldn't waver. "Thank you."

"Mmn…"

He seemed to flinch at something, as if shaking off a thought, then flashed out a series of combat signals to her: _T wo Aggressors; Armed With Crossbow and Polearm. Two and Nine O'clock, Twelve Metres._ It was only then that she realised he had twitched to evade the crossbow bolt. Reacting in kind, the archer crouched and readied a broadhead – _always best to be ready for as many possibilities as possible_.

The next bolt would not be ready for a while, she knew, so Sinon acted at the same time as the man in grey did. It had been obvious that she would face the crossbow-wielder, so she was clearing a line of sight between the trees even before the soldier's great blade came free. Her bow came to full draw in a quarter-second, before she let loose the bilobate projectile.

A dark streak across the vision, it crossed the distance and sank into the arbalist's abdomen through layers of linen, forcing a sharp gasp from the crossbowwoman. She doubled over and let her weapon slip to the ground from slack fingers while she tried to ease the pain. The archer debated on a second arrow, but decided against it. _It's clear she's out of this one for now. Should see if Arken needs anything._

«Perception»-enhanced eyes let her easily see the other woman – armed with a trident-like ranseur – keep both hands firmly on her weapon as she closed on the soldier with surprisingly soft steps. Arken was ready for the polearm-wielder, letting his opponent spend energy running while he analysed her every movement. When four metres was all the space between them, he burst forward and swept his greatsword in a switchback that cut off her initial attack and flicked to her unguarded cranium. The blade's _foible_ smashed into the woman's skull just above the ear, causing carmine red to pour out. She collapsed in an awkward heap, blood seeping into her dark cherry hair and the ground beneath.

 _Well. There's my answer._

His reaction was hidden by the falling buffe, but Sinon herself winced in almost-sympathy at the wound. A quick glance behind herself to ensure that the arbalist was still down preceded her steps over to the man in grey. He spent a moment cleaning his blade of the partly-dried red before he sheathed it. As he did, she spoke up.

"So. Thanks again."

"Mmn. Thank you for listening."

"You have a good singing voice."

"… Yeah."

Knowing exactly how well that attempt at a conversation had gone, the archer sighed internally and said, "Let's keep going."

"Of course."

—~~~—

{2032.11.07, Sunday}  
{0826 Aincrad Standard Time}

Sinon's eyes crept open, expecting the autumnal sun to greet her like it always did – temporarily blinding her through her bedroom window while she accustomed to the morning light. Instead, the golden rays struck the bedcovers below her face as the square four-pane window beyond her feet let in the sunlight. It was different; strange enough for her mind to work itself into high gear.

 _Where am I? What brought me here? When was I taken to this room? How safe is this place? Who do I know here, who can I trust? Why am I—?_

"Oh."

She remembered the answers to those questions.

 _This is…_ _too_ _real._

The stroke of linen on her skin, her fringe brushing her forehead, breath through her nose; the whiff of melted candle-wax, harvest-ready crops, livestock feed and manure; the sonance of morning-birds, gentle breezes and early risers; the glimpse of unique grains in worn-out floorboards, motes of dust in the air, the individual hairs on her skin; the flavour of saliva, remains of last night's dinner between her teeth, iron-rich blood from the cut in her lip that split again just a moment ago.

"Damn."

 _Kayaba just_ _ **had**_ _to include the parts of reality I'd rather leave out. Like dealing with bad breath and a bedhead in the morning._

With a muffled grunt, Sinon rolled off her bed and sprang to her feet. It was only the moment when her bare soles touched the cool wood of the floor that she realised her body was only covered by a mid-thigh tunic. _Huh._ The mint-green linen top was unexpectedly well-fitting, hugging her figure more than the loose t-shirts she normally wore. _Eh. It's comfy enough. I'll live._

The young woman padded across the room, taking in its layout – bedside to her right, drawers and a lone chair ahead – before she peered through the window to see outside. As luck would have it, she saw a familiar greatswordsman in dull grey iron mail striding towards the very inn that she found herself in. Beyond him lay the heart of «Horunka», the town of about fifteen thousand people they had hiked to late in the previous evening. It was bustling like any other decent-sized settlement, but much more slowly than the «First City»; an easy minuet versus a lively galliard.

"Mmh… Should get changed." _Should._

Sinon spent a few moments debating between looking presentable or not, pursing her split lip as it healed, and decided on the former. A flick of her first two right hand fingers straight down brought up the user menu. With a few quick taps and gestures, she materialised the clothes and armour she wore as an archer: fern green cotton long-sleeve tunic, burnt umber leggings, slate-grey hardened leather armour and matching boots. It took just two minutes to put everything on and spruce up a little (the easy-equip function still applied to armour, thankfully) – after which time she heard a sharp knock on the main door.

A hasty "Coming!" preceded her turning the knob to let Arken step inside. He slipped past her with a nod and a gesture to close the door without saying any words. Confused, she pushed it shut as he slowly removed his burgonet. In the morning light, his features were more gaunt than gracile – as if he hadn't rested for days.

"Care to explain?"

"To be sure we aren't overheard."

"Ah." _Right – inn rooms are best soundproofed when the door is closed._ "Wait, what's so important that you don't want people to hear us?"

The soldier was silent for a moment before he answered. "I'll be blunt. You were in the beta test; how many mechanics have changed? Aside from what we've been told."

 _He's acting really different. Not so formal. But more serious. This must be what he's like when he's fighting in the army. It's… a weird change. Though it suits him._

Realising that she had left a long pause between them, she answered, "None of it. Nothing that I've seen so far, that is. I never used the optional aiming reticle in the beta – and I still don't – so I don't know if they removed it, and there's still the easy-equip mechanic for armour and weapons. Everything else is more or less the same."

"Mmn," he frowned. "You're certain?"

"What I've looked at hasn't seemed different."

"We'll have to wait and see, then. But it wouldn't be so ' _entertaining'_ if it's still the same as in the «Closed Beta»." The emphasis came more from his use of the English word than his air quotes. It reminded her that he wasn't originally from Japan, even though his fluency in her home tongue suggested otherwise.

"That's true. I don't like it, but you've got a point."

"Mmh. Did you sleep well?"

She was startled by the sudden topic change, but responded honestly nonetheless. "Un. Yeah, I did."

"Good. You need it."

"What about you? Did you manage to get any sleep yourself?"

He paused, long enough for her to consider the chance that he hadn't. When he replied, she found that her guess was correct: "No. I didn't. If you saw my stats, as your «Friend», the fact that I'm now Level 2 would've stood out. That's why."

A glance at her one-person-long «Friends List» confirmed it. It was a surprise, no doubt. _He's levelled already! Even though the next «Player Level» requires ten thousand experience points – which took most of us twenty-four hours of grinding in the beta! And he did it in, what, just eighteen hours total?_ "How?"

"I don't sleep easily when I'm stressed, so I de-stressed. My kind of catharsis. Basically, I didn't stop until the sky grew light again."

"And you're still lucid?" _No wonder he's acting strange – he probably hasn't slept for the past twenty-four hours!_

"Barely hanging on," he chuckled. "I'll be right across the way if you want me, but try to give me five or six hours to flush out the excess."

 _Whatever that means._ "Go get your few hours' sleep. I'll be fine."

"See you."

—~—

{0839}

"Oho, what's this~?"

The voice felt unusual to Sinon, subtly inflected and amused in a way that put her on edge. She paused mid-stride three metres beyond the inn's staircase and snapped her gaze to the voice's source with a frown. An umber cloak wrapped 'round the petite figure in a way that perfectly disguised build, stance, appearance and any kinds of weaponry short of a greatsword— literally, as Arken's primary weapon was at least a dozen centimetres taller than the person standing off to her left. There was no doubting the tactical benefits of keeping oneself in shadowed places, nor the way darkness could make anyone and anything more ominous – both of which they appeared to be well aware of.

 _I should tread carefully… though, something says I know the voice and its owner._

"Come again?" the archer eventually replied.

"I saw a man of distinctive stance head upstairs, as if checking on something – or someone, maybe. Not much later, a woman of skills as sharp as her eyesight stepped out. Surely the two spoke?"

Sinon let out a quiet _hmph_. "Why tell you?"

"A Whisperer knows many things, but is always open to know much more."

"You seem more like a rat than any whisperer to me," the taller woman retorted, less intimidated now and more irritated. "A pain to deal with and an informant. Scampering around out of sight seems like your thing, too."

The façade of formality disappeared as if turned off at a switch. "A Rat? Aw, I've already got the title, you're gonna hafta be more creative than _that_. A 're swift, aware and vicious things. Doesn't hurt to be called one."

That reply cut the archer's verbal strides short. Bemused, she muttered, "Stranger than sleep-deprived Arken."

Her comment didn't go unnoticed. "So ya _do_ know ol' Soldier. Nice ta actually meet an acquaintance o' his. Call me Argo." The figure shifted her hood enough to show her face and some of her hair – namely a grin and a sandy-blonde fringe that confirmed Sinon's suspicions. _Ah. I thought I remembered her. A reliable source, but more quirked than everyone else I've ever met combined._

"Sinon. It's… odd meeting you. Again."

"Heh. I understand you already know my services. But, to refresh: as an information-broker, one o' the proper ones, I can get ya info on anyone an' anything. Just remember it'll cost ya – an' I don't sell for cheap."

"Anyone and anything? Already?" The archer raised an eyebrow. "You move fast."

"Information can spread like wildfire. Only th' best keep up," Argo replied.

Sinon nodded. "That's true."

"So, what'll it be, then? Anyone or anythin'? Purchasin' or gatherin'? A detailed report 'r a general explanation?"

"… Details on what's been altered and what's stayed the same. Anything and everything, just leave out the common knowledge."

The info-broker paused for a moment, frowning. "There's little to say that people don't already know," she began, slowly, before resuming her normal pace. "At this point, the most ta say is 'at the scaling o' mob encounters has been altered. Instead of a semi-static spawn rate with a single deviation from the average and some vaguely scaled levels, mobs now spawn relative ta th' skill and number o' players together in th' one area – as well as total population and its spread. When th' system detects an imbalance, it can respond an' adapt rapidly ta the problem as it sees fit. This little function was tested during th' first days o' the beta, but was quickly removed due to the supposed impact on running costs."

"Not every adjustment in the changelog appeared on the forums. Telling the wrong person something like that could drag things in the wrong direction."

"Not every archer in the beta could take a bear's jugular at a hundred-thirty paces in low light, let alone with a starter's longbow," the petite young woman countered. "Telling a person somethin' like that could drag us in _any_ direction."

"You have me there," Sinon conceded. "It's a hard life, being a bit too good at something."

"I know the feeling. But we hafta use what we're dealt. Also, the info's two hundred Cor."

The archer paused, pursing her freshly-healed lip. "Not cheap, but less than your standard fee. Why's that the case?"

"You'd already figured half it out, I could tell – _and_ you answered my question, givin' me a tidbit that could come in handy later," was the rather straightforward reply.

Sinon nodded before quickly pulling up a trade window that dropped a pair of centum coins in the info-broker's purse. "There you go," she declared. "Two hundred Cor."

"Much appreciated. I'll see you another time."

"Should make sure to stay in contact. I'll add you to my «Friends List», if you don't mind."

"Go ahead. Might as well do the same."

—~~—

{0909}

 _Three hundred metres to the town square from the gates, then seventy-five metres to the centre of the square. Seven hundred fifty from gate to gate. Only the heaviest-draw warbows would reach the square from the outer walls – and even then, with hardly any precision. Explains their choice of heavy crossbows. Standard patrolling guard's weaponry is one ox-tongue spear, one arming sword, one dagger. Armour is four-one mail, with nasal helmet and aventail._

The archer turned away from the view offered by her vantage point and stepped back to the ladder that connected the bell tower to the rest of the chapel. A few moments more and she was walking down the staircase that led to the ground level. Her longbow was unstrung, both in keeping to the requests of the NPC clergymen and to leave its arms strong, but it was little enough effort to draw her knife if it were needed – and her javelins weren't too far from hand, either.

When she reached the main hall of the chapel once more, she slowed to properly take in the design of the building. Entering from off to one side of the altar as she was, the major features of the front of the building were out of sight, leaving the velvet-seated pews and the few leadlight decorations on the side walls as the only eye-catchers. The double doors at the far end were simple and unadorned, not so much a feature of aesthetics as a necessary component of the design. A slow spin 'round herself would have shown her the pipe organ that sat mirror to the bell tower access, the central leadlight image that included a distinctly Christian cross, the brass eagle-shaped pulpit and the twin slabs of white marble engraved with ten statements in what appeared to be Latin. But, not so interested in the religious structure, she ignored those features and instead made her way to the exit.

Sinon nodded thanks to the clergy as she left, who responded in kind. _More polite than I'd thought they'd be._ She'd not talked to many Catholics, but she didn't think too highly of those she had met. _Not that I've seen enough Christians to really make a valid judgement._

Outside the chapel, the archer wove through the townspeople of «Horunka» with a fletcher in mind. Her remaining supply of arrows, standing at eight bodkin-points and half a dozen broadheads, was hardly enough for half a day's worth of hunting. The archer would need four more broadheads and twice that number in bodkins if she wanted to be out grinding for any greater length of time. _At least I know there's a decent supplier here._

It wasn't long before she was in the area where a player could find a store for every weapon they could feasibly own at this point in time. Despite being the second-smallest of the seven walled settlements, it was one of the most well-defended due to the number of craftsmen and merchants that made the most of its proximity to both an iron and a silver mine – as well as the gentle «Taku River». That much commerce in one area meant it would be prime choice for brigands, thieves and highwaymen if undefended.

The young woman stepped into the «Yew and Ash», a business run by both a fletcher and a bowyer with a well-established reputation for outstanding workmanship and durability of its products. It was twice the width of the mapmaker's back in the «First City», and half again as long as the other shop from door to back wall. Well-placed windows and interior lighting combined to give the shop a spacious feel that highlighted the quality-over-quantity nature of its products.

"Ah, Miss Sinon. What may I do for you today?"

"Good morning, Kuroyama-san. I'm just here for a resupply this time."

"Broadheads or bodkins? Or perhaps both?"

"Both. I didn't get the chance to really stock up back in the «First City»."

"Ah, I understand. I've more than enough arrows for your draw weight, you needn't worry. Eagle feathers, seeing you have the same already."

"Un. I'll have ten bodkin-points and eight broadheads."

"Of course. But, I should leave a small reminder: beyond thirty is quite the quantity to carry in your quiver, miss."

"They'll fit. Forty-four Cor, right?"

"Indeed."

It had confused Sinon at first, how the fletcher spoke with a formality that never wavered even though he seemed perfectly comfortable with her lower register. He was amicable and, as would be expected, ever courteous no matter who stepped into the shop. By the third visit, when she came across a senior guardsman addressing the dark-haired twenty-something in a gruff shorthand that was nonetheless met with politeness, she'd figured it was simply personal preference.

"Grouped by arrowhead type, as ever," she noticed with an appreciative nod when the arrows were set on the counter before her.

He echoed the gesture. "Exactly as requested during your first visit."

"Thanks." Her payment slid across the varnished black oak as she gathered the arrows and placed them in her quiver.

"Your patronage is always appreciated. Remain safe in your journeys, miss."

"I will."

 _Even the most simple tasks here are hardly bland._

The thought struck her as she left the shop. It was true, seeing how she had quite simply stepped into a weapons-maker's shop to restock her supply of projectiles that she used to go and hunt beasts for what they could give her – and fight off the people and other beasts who wanted to steal her prizes.

 _This has changed everything for us all, in a painfully short amount of time. And we adapt, or at least try our best to do so._

Sinon didn't think long on those who refused to believe their new reality, knowing intrinsically that this was a realm where the fittest survived and those who failed died. There was nothing to be done for those who refused to help themselves.

—~~~—

{1154}

Hunting was now much more difficult, the archer had realised over the past two and a half hours or so of walking through the southern «Occident Forest». Mobs were smarter – the prey were more elusive and the predators more cunning. They could sense a person more than through simply catching sight of them, or even hearing them. A hunter's scent could carry on the wind and give away their position, or a heightened sense of hearing could do the same, making «Red Deer» that much more likely to scatter and «Feral Wolves» more skilled in manoeuvring as a pack.

She had lost half a dozen opportunities because of that alteration of intelligence; twice as many as had been the norm back in the beta. Rather than two, perhaps three successful kills in the past few hours – be it deer, boar, gamefowl or any other animal – she had only achieved one, taking down a single young «Whitetail Buck». It was a large enough beast to not be a waste of her time, but far from a distinguished prize.

At the present moment, Sinon was contemplating whether or not to turn in for lunch and check up on the man in grey. _By the time I get back, it'll be about 1 o'clock, which is half an hour short of the five Arken had wanted. Add in the midday meal and it'd be pretty much five hours exactly since he went and crashed in that inn room._

A voice, somewhat familiar, pulled the young woman from her thoughts.

"Hey."

"Mmh?" _Ah. Him._ "Oh, hello."

"Fancy seeing you again so soon," the slim longswordsman said.

She snorted lightly. "Could say the same to you."

"True," he nodded. "So, where's Grey-san?"

"Arken? He's catching up on the sleep he missed by staying up all night. Apparently hunting equals 'de-stressing' for him – and he hit the second «Player Level» while he was at it."

"You're serious?" That surprise happened to be the most genuine expression of his she'd seen so far.

"Un. He's a strange guy."

Kirito hummed in the affirmative. "Must be pretty skilled, though."

"Said he was in the army or something for a while."

"But modern militaries don't use swords or polearms or dart-launching weapons – outside the Special Forces, for crossbows."

"Eh. HEMA is internationally recognised these days. Would it really surprise you to find he learned how to wield a European greatsword before all this?"

"I guess not. German Longsword was my own school of choice, it's hardly a stretch."

"Mmn."

"… How's your hunting been?"

"Not the best."

"Sou da. Mind if I join you for a bit?"

"Eh." She turned away, collecting three arrows from her quiver. "I'll see if you're able."

"That sounds like a 'yes'."

—~~—

{1219}

 _He's actually decent. Well, more than decent._

 _Which is to be expected. After all, a different face doesn't always mean a different persona._

 _He himself has hardly changed. I_ _ **know**_ _who he is._

Sinon kept low while she moved forward, javelin in hand. The «Chukotka Bull Moose» that stood a dozen and a half metres to her eleven o'clock was huge, over two metres tall and more than half a metric tonne in weight. It was an imposing beast, especially for someone as well-informed as herself – if brought to aggression, it would charge into its agitator or lash out in any direction without any distinction between those around itself. She had seen moose fight with bears and _win_ firsthand, enough to make anyone wary.

A «Senses Index» that favoured her by 71% kept her concealed from every living creature in a hundred-metre radius barring her fellow hunter, who was a dozen metres to her two o'clock armed with a javelin of his own. Their plan was to attack different targets consecutively; Kirito would aim at the rear flank, Sinon at the base of the neck. If all went well, they would have a very wounded moose with two «Crippling Blows» dealt to it and an easy time of the kill itself. Of course, they were just as prepared for the possibility of everything going quite wrong quite quickly. The much more messy backup plan involved one of them rushing to the aid of the other while blades were drawn and evasive actions were taken.

 _Let's just hope we'll be able to keep in line with the_ _first_ _plan._

With fluid, calm movements, the archer raised her weapon to throw height and brought herself to a more balanced stance. Now she embraced the cold of clinical calculation in the solitary state of self that she had always called her realm of ice. Within, there was no flawed emotion. Only rational thought lived there.

Acknowledgement of the fact that she was being observed by a third party, ignoring.

Understanding that the trajectory would rise above the point of release, compensating.

Measuring the optimal angle and impulsion force for the given displacement, deciding.

 _Breathe._

 _Draw._

 _Breathe._

 _Tense._

 _Breathe._

 _Release._

—~—

The length of ash with iron head flew those eighteen metres, sinking deep into the waiting flesh with ease. It punched through hide, muscle, cartilage and vein wall in the blink of an eye; a half-moment more brought its twin to mark. Both javelins sank into their intended targets as planned – but the moose didn't collapse from pain and blood loss, instead shaking the neck-piercing javelin from its place as if nothing had happened.

 _Oh shit._

Furious, delirious and doubtlessly murderous, the «Chukotka Bull Moose» set its sights on the nearest possible attacker and charged. It was twice as heavy as a grizzly could ever be – and it could move _fast_ , even when injured.

But not for the archer, not this time. No, instead the bull moose ran at the longswordsman, Kirito, bellowing a battle-cry as it bore down on the man that was a tenth of its body mass. Startled, wide-eyed surprise took away half of a precious second of his reaction time before he moved, gripping another javelin. Her bow was quickly in hand, a trio of broadheads a heartbeat later; impeccable aim was indeed in need here.

He used the trees to his advantage, weaving around and between to make the raging beast slow in its hellbent gallop. The javelin jammed in its hindquarters seemed to barely check its pace at first – but, when it turned a second time to keep the swordsman close, the haft struck one tree's trunk and was ripped free from the wound it had made, along with a jet of crimson fluid. _He struck an artery, unlike the vein I hit,_ she realised. _But it'll reach him before bleeding out._

The _thrum_ of a taut bowstring being released with bilobate projectile came twice in three seconds. Sinon grimaced at the results: forequarter and ribcage shots. _That won't be enough for this._

 _One more before he leads it too far – these damn trees get in the way so easily. Gah;_ _focus_ _._

 _Impassive._

 _Accurate._

 _Decisive._

One more _thrum_ of a bowstring. Flex in the spine, around the frame. Some scores of Newtons of force driving hardened steel mounted on rigid wood with eagle feathers behind. Through the air, lancing out across three dozen metres to strike—

—the occiput, sinking into the medulla oblongata and the pons Varolii; an instantaneous kill.

Without a cry, the «Chukotka Bull Moose» fell to the ground. Kirito had turned to face the beast, in hopes that it was weak enough to be killed by his blade, and rigidly kept his stance as its corpse crashed to a halt less than a metre from him. After several long seconds of waiting, he relaxed enough to sheath his blade.

"Thanks," he called.

 _For once, I hit the brainstem._ "You're welcome."

"You want the skin? The antlers? The meat?"

"Just its hide," she replied, stepping closer to the longswordsman and the prize bull. "You can have whatever else you want."

He tilted his head slightly as he asked, "You sure? It's good meat when cooked."

"I'll pass." Her knife came to hand as she crouched down beside the beast. "… Thanks anyway."

—~~—

{1354}

"Would he mind a visit?"

"Well, I don't know how he wakes up. If he's not much of a morning person, might not be the best idea right now."

"But how else will he get up at the right time? Staying asleep as long as he has messes up a person's body clock and sleeping patterns."

"I know, but he's not exactly a normal person. He might not follow his body's timekeeping – and anyway, he'd have messed everything up already by staying awake all night."

"You have a point. Still, I think somebody's got to wake him."

Sinon opened her mouth to reply, before barking a short laugh and instead saying, "Well, I wouldn't be surprised to find if that somebody was himself."

She gestured for the longswordsman to turn around when his face contorted in confusion. At the prompt, Kirito about-turned to see what – or, rather, who – was behind him: the soldier himself, looking much more alive after his five and a half hours of rest. Colour was flushed through his features again, his eyes had cleared of redness, the surety of his movements returned. _He's back._

"Afternoon," he waved. The man only wore a long-sleeved pale grey tunic and much darker skinny-leg trousers – not as thin as simple leggings, but not jeans-thick either. _In regular clothes, he still has a soldier's stance. Habit, I guess._

"Hi there, Grey-san."  
"Hey, Arken."

Surprise flashed in his eyes briefly at Kirito's use of the nickname, but he was quick to school himself again and continue with barely half a beat missed: "How are you both?"

"I'm well. Just came back from the day's hunt."

"Not too bad, either," Sinon added.

The man in grey nodded once, smiling slightly as he continued down the staircase to more properly talk with them. She watched his steps – slow and deliberate, perhaps from overworked muscles, but not heavy or clumsy. Fluid, like a dancer's steps, but projecting more sureness in himself than most anyone she had seen before.

 _His strength is painfully unique. I can't read it. He's unlike those I've seen before._

 _And I can't read into Kirito's strength, either. A trained soldier of another country is understandably different, but Kirito… I don't know. And that grates on me, not knowing._

Pushing aside her thoughts to return to the reality before her, Sinon focused on the conversation that was continuing between Arken and the young man beside her – perhaps including her as well.

"You said that you were out hunting – what did you bring back?"

"Well, I only managed to snare a few «Red Foxes» at first, but near the end I found a «Chukotka Bull Moose». Sinon was there – she killed it, not me."

Her eyes flicked to the longswordsman in surprise, not expecting to be mentioned so immediately and in a plainly honest recount. When he flashed a half-grin, she let a faint smile slip out as Arken turned to speak with her.

"So the archer can speed-shoot moving targets as well? Your skills really are impressive."

"Thanks," she replied easily. "Coming from you, that's a real compliment."

"Hm. I would like to think so."

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **[POSTFACE]**

 ***This isn't wholly accurate to canon, as no real addresses in full are given as far as I know, beyond mention of Kawagoe City. In any case, Sayama borders Kawagoe to the southwest.**

 **~ It appears that I can write content for Arken's perspective much faster than Sinon's – I wrote about a thousand words of first draft for the next chapter before finishing off this one. So the next one might come much more quickly than this one. No promises, though.**

 **~ If you have any major problems with characterisation of canon characters, PM me or drop a good-length review if you have the time.**

 **– Song lyrics are, respectively as you read through the chapter, from Yoe Mase's 'Thrive' [edited for 'shower version'], John Mark McMillan's 'Visceral' (feat. Ray Dalton) and Switchfoot's 'This Is Your Life' [in the style of the acoustic cover by Jon Cain on YouTube].**

 **[Notable Changes:]  
** **2017.01  
** **• Player Level 2 requires 10,000 XP now, rather than 1,000. That is, Arken averaged 11 XP per minute of grinding (accounting for two and a half hours not out hunting) versus the general average of 7 XP per minute.**

 **2017.04  
** **• Altered Argo's speech pattern's to better fit her canonical voice type.**


	4. GREETINGS – TEDIUM MACABRE

**[PREFACE]**

 **Now for the unofficial record. Again following the given original character's perspective, with over 11k words of content. (2017.02.11 publication)**

 ** _Song Selection:_ If you want music to accompany your reading experience, 'Stagnant' by Yoe Mase would suit the first scene. 'Elaina's Theme' by Tom Player is what Arken keeps tempo with after ' _Aïe. Je ne sais pas'_.**

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **GREETINGS. TEDIUM MACABRE  
** {2032.11.16, Tuesday}  
{0645 Aincrad Standard Time}  
{An Incarnating Radius, Floor 01}  
{Northern Occident Forest}

The soldier swept his blade into the beast with nearly mechanical precision of movement, efficiently driving the centre of percussion into its exposed trachea. A crunch of cartilage and bone giving way to tempered steel followed, visibly stealing the creature's life, along with the sight of fluid carmine spraying out of high-pressure vessels onto myrtle-green grasses. He slid his weapon free from the wound as the body sank to the ground and speared its point into the medulla oblongata, ceasing misery.

To most, the remains would be a sickening view: a mostly-severed neck, a gaping wound in the base of the skull; both forelimbs quite unceremoniously shortened by a single stroke of sharpened steel; the abdomen split open from ribcage to pelvis, spewing intestines and blood. To the swordsman in grey, it was something he had seen a lifetime's worth of already; a sight he grew accustomed to when waging war with infernal chemicals and vicious projectiles. His meticulous work of cleaning the blade of his weapon for the fourth time this morning declared to those who watched – and he knew that they did, appalled and intrigued by him – that he was far more accustomed to such vile gore than any of them could ever be. That blatant disregard for the result of his efforts but half a minute earlier would as much shock any and all who observed him from the safety of the other world as the sight itself.

Of course, the icing on that cake was the fact that the mob he had just killed was a humanoid.

The bearish, bipedal Mirka were immense beings in terms of physical size, towering at least half a metre over the soldier and more than twice as broad at the shoulders as himself. Yet to assume they were lumbering brutes would be to die a moment later: they moved with sure swiftness like a rugby forward, able to evade attacks and counter in turn with skill. Their armour was only lightweight padded or cuir bouilli as far as he had seen – but, knowing their natural resilience, it mattered much less than their warriors' weapons. Those were wrought iron; though the elites' blades were laminated with shear steel edges.

Iron weaponry in and of itself put the Mirka at a distinct disadvantage in terms of weapon efficacy. Versus the technically superior monosteel of many human weapons and the pattern-welded steel of a number of others, their shorter and more ductile blades would deform quite quickly – though the laminated blades would hold their own. The longest swords that the bearlike monsters wielded were a metre overall, judging by the eight he had eliminated personally.

To those who stepped out, it would certainly help.

Arken, mulling over these thoughts, spent no time considering the fact that he had disembowelled and nearly decapitated a human-like creature.

Of course, there was no need to skin the beast when it wore armour – and carrying its cuir bouilli would add excessive weight. The leather would bring some profit, but he had no desire to further risk himself simply to gain more money. What he had taken from the «Grizzly Bear» that he killed earlier was more than enough to purchase those pieces of plate armour he had yet to own: couters and rerebraces for the elbows and upper arms, full cuisses for the thighs and whole greaves rather than shin-only schynbalds. He hunted by himself, traded by himself, trained by himself. Not a single thing he did was unnecessary.

Even the grey-blue cloak he wore was purpose-made; it came from the «Great Blue Bear» he had skinned on that first day. Its effect of blurring his outline, a large boon to his «Senses Index», made hunting notably easier, as animals – and people – couldn't easily place his size or shape. His smooth strides assisted the optical distortion, turning his figure into just a smudge on the vision. Natural oils in the fur kept out water and dirt, allowing the man to hunt in any weather without worry for its state.

—~~—

{0712}

 _Another, I see._

A «Mirka Bladesman» stood just outside his two-step reach, armed with twin swords of half-metre blade each. Unlike the bladesman he had fought last, this dual-wielder wore thick leather gloves and padded chausses as well as the boiled leather cuirass and iron spangenhelm with cheek plates that most Mirka wore.

 _Not the easiest fight I'll have. Wielding two weapons makes them far more aggressive._

He calmly adjusted his grip to half-sword the weapon, knowing he'd have to do his best to keep the _vor_ if he wanted to effectively defeat the beast. His guard stayed high as he stepped off the line, trying to find which was the bladesman's primary hand and if the beast would favour one pattern. _One with this much armour could be skilled enough for a unique combination preference. Or be a southpaw._

Both were quiet, gauging each other with a step's range between. Humanoid intelligence made for much more interesting fights. Especially foreign styles. Different nations had different preferences: the Italians flowed, the Spaniards calculated, the Germans exploded. Even the variations between locales and teachers were noticeable. Some too subtle for those not adept, others almost as blatant as different nations. Completely different _species_ meant that things as common as the number of strikes in a combination might be more or less as a standard, or the preferences for the way a weapon was held could turn out unalike.

 _Twitching his left more, following my movements more accurately with it, so he's a south. Leading with right foot and heavier on it; prefers back foot flèche to front foot lunges. Gaze stays level, focus is open enough…_

The soldier found weaknesses in his opponent's readiness, understood exactly what was needed for success. _One pace counterclockwise, drop to a middle guard, flick point towards the solar plexus._

Just as the Mirka shifted its stance to act on a false opening, a gap in his guard that never truly existed, he moved.

 _Now._

There were good reasons behind why two and three-strike combinations were common – more strikes often turned out excessive, primarily. He knew those justifications and thus used such patterns of attack quite often.

His blade's point closed on the Mirka before it could advance on him, aiming for the centremost nerve cluster with a swift lunge. It was deflected to one side by the off-blade, with the primary lancing out to stab his lead hand. Instinct drove him to curl his wrist upwards, forcing the jab off its line, before directing him to arc the foible 'round to cut high across from his left – snaking around and above the head. He struck the base of the neck, driving his steel into the flesh that lay hidden under four millimetres of hardened leather.

The Mirka's armour tried its best to deflect and absorb the impact, but Arken's blade was of a design that effectively countered the function by biting into the cuir bouilli instead of slipping off. His arm muscles swung the greatsword with enough force to sever an unprotected neck, bursting blood vessels and crushing muscles with ease while violently jerking its head to the right. An observer would have heard the strangled cry of pain and seen the saliva flecked with blood that were forced from the beast's open mouth, though the soldier had never cared to notice.

Immediately, his opponent's health began dropping at an alarming rate – from a full 480 to 360 in not even a second – with the rather expected effect of severely impairing fine motor skill and all the other debilitations resulting from a «Crippling Blow». But it was clear at the same time that the gargantuan humanoid still had enough epinephrine of its own for a final desperate retaliation with both weapons.

Howling agony and outrage at its exsanguination, its iron weapons lashing out haphazardly, the «Mirka Bladesman» tried to reciprocate the damage that had been dealt by the man in grey, but was sorely unsuccessful. To end misery while out of reach, the soldier launched a throwing knife; sharp steel sank several centimetres into the right eyeball and the cerebrum behind – a «Critical» that sent it into shock and unconsciousness. _It will be dead within a handful more seconds._

He stepped forward, his two-handed blade sheathed once more but still at hand, and crouched down before the collapsed body.

" _Dormit in pace."_

The words were few and brief, but they were all to be said. Removing the small blade from its wound, the man slung his sword over his shoulder and pulled out his cleaning kit to remove the gore from the knife before reapplying its coat of oil.

—~~~—

{1123}

"O _ho_. Nine in five days. Now you're making yourself even more well known around here."

"Mmn. Not that it's a purposeful attempt."

"Hey, at least they don't have any clue about your personal history. You're a ghost, not a celebrity."

"True. Thank you for your help with that."

"Aah, I didn't do anything."

"Doing nothing is still a decision. In this case, it's one I have to thank you for."

"You don't have to do that, really. I keep my best clients' secrets anyway."

"Are you sure you won't have some gift in return?"

"I'm fine, Grey-san."

 _That's a yes, then. But not right now._

 _This tea is much nicer than I thought it would be._

"You know the Mirka tech development, right?"

"Last I remember from the beta was bronze for the best, pattern-welded for the boss. Average ones had bronze and copper tools, mostly axes."

"They have more access to iron now. Laminated for the best, but wrought for the average."

"Ooh. That'll be nasty for the betas moving in from «Tolbana» now, those differing attack patterns. Still low on reach?"

"A full metre at most for their swords, overall. Usually eight or so centimetres wide."

"Much the same as before, luckily. Could be a whole lot worse."

"Mmh."

—~—

Stepping out of the boisterously crowded tavern in the heart of «Ratel», where being overheard was all but impossible, Arken let his hand rest on one of his small knives casually as he strode to the inn he had taken lodge in for the past two and a half days. Even with the lack of effect to one's health and the numbing of pain within «Safe Areas», it never hurt to be ready for threats. Knowing the current state of affairs with the Mirka, the town that he walked through now could suddenly be fallen upon by a mass of the huge beasts and be removed of its status as a «Safe Area». _And because we know it has occurred before, in the «Closed Beta» on Floor 05, it is a matter of when._

Although his thoughts drifted elsewhere, he was still aware of his immediate surroundings. His feet subconsciously stepped where he would not interrupt others, adjusting his pace and path as the crowd shifted around him. Amidst the bustling clamour of thirty-odd thousand, he could pick out the words spoken by people across the street with his passive «Perception» Skill Modifier at work. Through the flow of people around him – mostly NPCs but still people – he could see the features of the patrolling guards walking towards him from twenty metres ahead. Inside his burgonet with its falling-buffe, he could feel his warm breath on the visor and, at the same time, ignored the scratch of the padded armour's rough seams on his skin.

It was little effort to listen into any conversation; he chose one that had just began quite obviously across the main way.

"Saru! Where's the pay? …Kuso, the contract hasn't changed again, has it?"

"Not exactly, no. Whole deal's off. _Everything_ had to stop – boss' orders. Didn't even give us the standard half-day warning."

"Ueh? You're not messing with me, are you?"

"Nah, nah. I'm seriously flat out of work, running solely on yesterday's payments. Even my old foreman's gotta work out something, since he hasn't got anyone…"

Arken let his attention shift, knowing just how similar his «Perception» modifier was to a classic mechanic from a game series in the era of high-definition flat displays. It was highly effective for the purposes of observation, making inconspicuousness considerably easier than it would be otherwise. At the same time, the modifier was not without its drawbacks: with too intense a focus, the point of interest became the only thing one could properly sense – all else being near-totally numbed for better discernment. Which, in turn, meant the user either had to be constantly working with at least one other player or had to refrain from using the active component of the mod frequently, if at all.

 _Of course, I work without the active module and suffer neither any trouble nor disadvantage._

 _And, while I certainly can work with others such as the archer Sinon and longswordsman Kirito, I prefer to hunt and train by myself. The stance is accepted as normal by those as far across the Floor as myself, but I doubt it would sit well with too many others. Indeed, even as I say I would rather travel alone, the soldier in me quietly understands that a unified and disciplined cohort of fighters is best suited to efficiency in the completion of this… campaign. Nothing has more tangible dominance in warfaring than a highly skilled unit of considerable size, after all._

—~—

{1136}

His mind switched its focus once more as he entered the inn, analysing the layout and positioning of people and objects while the most efficient path was subconsciously taken from main door to staircase. Sensing no potential threats, the man in dull grey removed his burgonet before unshouldering his greatsword and climbing the steps leading to the second floor, where his room for the night lay. The inn-keep nodded a greeting as he passed, receiving a slight inclination of the head in return.

He had memorised the layout of the room, so it was no surprise to find it completely untouched beyond what he had moved before leaving. The tells were still as the soldier had left them – even the slip of cloth that hung so precariously off of the inside door handle, which Arken snatched from its fall for the next time he left. As the man in grey trod slowly over to the bed, he adjusted the placement of all his other tells to ensure that they would not set off while he was still in the room.

"All seven of them. Good."

An almost casual drop of his right hand with index and middle fingers extended brought him the user menu – a simplistic interface consisting almost entirely of faintly glowing white text without backdrop. After a few selections, his plate armour sections and cloak began to remove themselves, as if by invisible hands, before disappearing into the apparent nothingness of his inventory. He was left with his mail habergeon and chausses over the padded jacket and matched leggings that he wore underneath – a full plate harness without major gaps in it was more expensive than anything actually available on the «First Floor»; it would require _weeks_ of forging for an armourer, if they were both able and willing.

The tunic of wrought iron links was removable without additional help, slipping off with a soft cascade of noise and a moment more than he needed to remove the chausses. Both padded garments were removed easily enough, leaving Arken in only sweat-slick linen undershorts. Bare muscles were put on display for none to see (what with the lack of indoor livestreaming), whipcords under tan skin tensing and relaxing in time with every movement.

His muscles had demanded that he grant them proper respite for the past hour – and it was only as he unceremoniously flopped onto the bed that they received it.

" _Aïe. Ce que je ne ferais pas pour une douche."_

Few people in the whole of the «Great Incarnating Radius» – let alone the town of «Ratel» – would have been able to understand his use of French, though they may have guessed at his desire for a proper shower due to his state: skin darkened by grime, hair dripping with sweat and everything reeking of body odour. He had long been passably adept in the language, as well as fluent in Japanese, due to a knack for learning foreign tongues that he had put aside in recent years.

For the next good while, Arken simply lay prone across his inn room's bed at a lazy angle, uncaring for anything but rest.

 _It's strange. I wanted people to see the mask presented to them and to accept it. So far, it appears that they have. Most of them._

 _Argo is a help with the minority that don't, even if she verbally denies it. Part of that comes from all the information of mine she knows (something that should worry me more than it does); another part is due to her quiet with others in regards to myself as a person._

 _Why, though? I've seen her sell all kinds of things without a second thought for it, even information on a few players. She indirectly told me that I'm on her 'best clients' list, though I've only used her services half a dozen times. I wasn't even in the «Closed Beta», not even an established contact with any kind of reliability or trustworthiness, yet she considered me a person to not sell information on for her own reasons._

 _I can't see a reason for her choices. It's not the greatest issue at hand, but I find the situation intriguing in its puzzling nature. Something to maintain my apparent sanity, you could say._

 _I wonder. How frequently does she take meetings? What does she consider as sellable information?_

 _Why is her skill with information the way it is now?_

' _There was a time, I met a girl of a different kind… We ruled the world, I thought I'd never lose her out of sight. We were so young; I think of her now and then. I still hear the songs, reminding me of a friend…'_

' _All my actions, false or true, selfish motives I will use – we were born with knives in hand, trained to kill our fellow man; if we're not better than the rest, how will children do their best?_ _Find your patience, find your truth: love is all we have to lose… have to lose… 'Cause I'm not able… No, I'm not able… I'm not able, on my own…'_

Eventually, he roused from his half-hour or so power nap and rose from the slim bed. A cloth dampened by a waterskin cleaned some of the grime and sweat, refreshing tired muscles and washing away the lethargy following sleep.

—~~—

{1248}

He sat by a window close to the back right corner, far and near at the same time. People would come and go, but they never stayed near for any longer than needed – as if he was repellent. Yet, not in a disdainful way; he was a danger, not an object of derision. Even though he was not visibly armed and not physically imposing, he was kept well away from.

 _It's the icy expression, and the way he sits. Not a soldier's firm alertness, but a skilled combatant's comfortable vigilance. Always ready for a fight._

Equally sure of himself, Arken stepped further into the inn's taproom wearing all his armour – but not his cloak or his weapons, aside from the knives he hid on his person. The man in grey had already removed his helmet and gauntlets, letting them retreat to the «Quick-Access» node of his personal inventory with a gesture, and now chose himself a subtly secure position to sit: a squat table opposite the bar's far left corner, close enough to break for either door if in haste, distant enough to give the other man his space.

That overlong shock of auburn hair, those incisive grey eyes, thin mouth and smallish, sharp nose were not familiar in the sense of a single recalled individual. Instead, they stimulated memories of two different people the soldier knew as cunning, ruthless and rational people, yet constant allies. _National armed forces bring many types of people together for the country's defence – and then balance each one out to highly beneficial effect._

 _It's going to be much, much more difficult to gather the right people here, though._

The man in grey ordered a simple buttered roll of bread and a cup of whatever tea they had. While waiting, he observed the coming and going that occurred about him: serving girls weaving between the tables with trays and tankards filled with large orders; the bartender mixing beverages strong and weak in both flavour and alcohol; patrons enjoying food, drink and banter; the cook baking foods of delicious scents. And that other man, the one that had quickly caught his eye, who wore a burnt-umber jack of plates over mail.

They never met gazes, but it was impossible for him to not have noticed Arken as soon as the soldier stepped into the room. Neither one moved to acknowledge or communicate with the other, yet each knew some of the other via observation.

 _His jack tells me he favours mobility yet still wants for good protection, his slim build does favour that. Mail chausses and good schynbalds say he has not forgotten his legs, though they could afford more if he could buy. His lack of extra garments – no cloak nor mantle nor any other outerwear – add that he cares not for those excesses, even if they can grant some boon as is the case with my own._

"Here's your tea and your bread roll, mister."

 _Ah. Black tea; good._

He accepted the cup with a nod, drinking deeply as the server walked away.

—~—

Some time passed, leaving the two men completely alone in the barroom – save the staff that were cleaning up and preparing for the next rush hour. Both took their time to finish the meals they had ordered, sedate in their enjoyment of the food and drink. First to finish his meal was the soldier, who then set his teacup down with a small _clack_. _Now is as good a time as any for this._ He moved to a seat near enough for him to speak at a reasonable volume for talking.

"Would you hold conversation with me?"

"Mn. That's one way of asking the question."

The man in grey simply waited for an answer, saying nothing further – but also retaining his perfectly unmoving half-smile.

"Sure. Why not. I'm Kemuri."

"Arken," he nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"So. You're slim, like me, but you've gone for plate armour. Why not choose something lighter, to focus on manoeuvrability and evasion?"

"I learned Italian Spadone for a while, as well as Kyūshin Ryū Jujutsu. Evasion and manoeuvrability are not the same with a blade almost as tall as the wielder is. Hence my use of a Dexterity-Strength combination, rather than anything else."

"Right. That makes sense."

"And you wear that coat of plates to stay agile and retain a majority of the function of your arms without sacrificing decent protection."

"Un. I use a backsword and dirk together, with a buckler on occasion."

"A clear damage focus. And you work alone, no?"

"Usually. Sometimes with a tank – he has plated mail with an arming sword and kite shield."

"For the odd dungeon run, I would guess."

"More or less, yeah."

The two had easily slipped into an analysis-based conversation: not amicable, nor hostile; no, simply neutral. It was a strange thing, not quite small talk. Before they could continue further, another person stepped inside the taproom.

"Oho~? Being friendly for once, Grey-san?"

—~—

A turn of his head to register her presence, a simple nod in acknowledgement.

"Argo."

She grinned at his greeting, then took a closer look at who he was with. "And you're talking with Kemuri-kun, of all people. Like minds, I guess."

"Not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that," the man in a coat of plates said.

The soldier nodded his shared sentiments. "Now, what brings you to speak with me again, so soon after our last meeting?"

"Just a bit of info to help that project of yours."

Arken paused. _Another player with potential?_ "I did not expect you to return so soon, but if you believe the information is vital, I will take it now."

"Oh, it's not _too_ important. But it's different, that's for sure."

 _Different? What kind of different?_ "Well. Apologies, Kemuri, but I have some pressing matters to attend to," the man in grey said as he stood up.

"Eh, it's fine," he waved off. "I know that good information is vital to keeping up with everything that goes on."

"I'll see you another time, then. Argo."

"Ah, so curt." Noting Arken's lack of reaction, she sighed and called to the backswordsman while she made her own exit: "Oh well. I'll see you another time, then, Kemuri-kun."

"Bye."

—~—

The man in grey opened the front door of the establishment once he had equipped his helmet and gauntlets again, leading directly onto the main street in the town. At the odd hour of the mid-afternoon that was their present, it was rather empty, with only a few NPCs out and about – mostly guardsmen. Enjoying the relative quiet, he strode easily for the town square and one of the locations he visited when meeting with Argo. He could make out the info-broker's footsteps about half a dozen metres behind, at a pace that would not overtake him. _I might as well grant her an opportunity to talk more lightly._

Ever so gradually, he both shortened his strides and slowed his pace to let her catch up to him, as well as lowering the falling-buffe on his burgonet. She took a moment to realise that he was walking beside her with matching steps, but when she did, the petite young woman smiled at him cheekily.

"Oho? What's this I'm seeing, Grey-kun? Wanting to spend time with a woman suddenly? It's not like you."

He snorted. "I thought you would appreciate a break, even if this is barely two minutes' regular walk. Every passing second is spent."

"So the soldier has a beating heart? I'm surprised."

"Oho, you wound me so gravely. A soldier cannot be alive without a beating heart. My own reminds me of its presence every time I fight."

"I wonder how many _battles_ you've won."

The swordsman let a smile play at his lips. "That is for me to know and you to never find out."

"Is that a challenge?" she raised an eyebrow.

"With you, it is doubtless one – whether or not my answer is yes."

Argo laughed. "You would know, Grey-kun."

"Says the woman who has no qualms with the epithet of 'the Rat'," he smiled.

"Come on~" she drawled, "you know rats are cool."

"Yes, but I'd not be surprised if you were the only woman to have that view on this entire perpetually airborne landmass."

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Anyway, we're here to talk about important stuff, not idle around." They had arrived at the meeting place a moment earlier – a nook between the cobbler's and tailor's shops. The man in grey stood nearer to the main street, obstructing what view any passersby had of Argo.

"I know. So, who's on the radar?"

The espial info-broker paused for a second before she spoke, more quietly than before, "A man with the player name of Diavel. He's working with nine other people right now in his «Unit» and he knows how to manage them effectively and efficiently. His personal «Player Level» is far into 4 and his whole group is Level 3 or 4 as well."

"Equipment?" Arken interjected. _I already find him intriguing. Only the most severely dedicated of people are at Level 5 presently, myself included. His entire nine-man squad is at 3 and 4; they're not far behind the first cut. Definitely part of the driving force, then._

"He uses a Type XII arming sword and a heater shield, wearing a brigandine with plate for his arms and legs plus a close helmet, five-one pattern mail underneath. Dualrole but damage focused, quick on his feet while making good use of his armour and shield to take blows."

"Interesting… But it sounds like you have more." _I don't even bother wondering how she can find out the stats balances specific players have anymore. Her network of sources would make a government intelligence officer proud, at the least._

"Un. He was one of the beta testers who led the front lines to «Floor 10»."

"Oh? That is telling."

"Yeah. I remember his name from back then; he had the same combat role and stats build, though he was a blue-eyed bishie who had azure hair and acted like a knight."

A muted chuckle escaped him. "Trying to be the centre of attention, or just be a memorable face? Well, however it went, you already know that we should keep an eye on him."

"Yup. I was wondering how long he would take to get to this side of the Floor, and was happy to find that he's in «Tolbana» now. I'm pretty sure he's one of the people moving in on the «Labyrinth» today."

"I wonder how he'll handle the changes in how the Mirka fight. Iron blades are not like bronze ones."

"He was a skilled leader in the beta and I'm pretty sure he has yet to lose a member of his «Unit». He'll be able to roll with it."

"We'll have to wait and see."

"Un."

—~~~—

{1758}

 _Ten in five days, Argo. The soldier piques interest ever further…_

 _More seriously, it feels like Kayaba is trying to determine what can be considered a decent opponent to me. The only time I've faced one of the same classification as another is that second bladesman form earlier. It's absurd at this point. Though, this could well be the system trying to balance my unexpected skill – outside of the «Expert Testers» that were known to be highly proficient with their weapons and some of the other «Closed Beta Testers», I don't think it expected another prodigiously capable fighter would enter into its world. Now that it has found otherwise, it's trying to compensate in the only way that it knows._

As a «Mirka Spearmaster», it held a spear of near 2 metres in its hands, the haft worn smooth – _pine, most likely, given the forest_ – with a shear steel and wrought iron laminated head.

 _Laminated steel is all but expected of a 'master' type. More surprisingly, it apparently includes the effective use of mail armour; it will be much harder to deal lasting damage compared to others. It even has an aventail for its neck, as well as the cheek plates and nosepiece on its spangenhelm._

 _With its right hand leading, I can at least expect an orthodox opponent – but mastery should include ambidexterity, no? Thusly, I need to keep that probability in mind for compensation. The weapon, while well-used, certainly appears quite resilient; I will need a parry to drive the point into the ground if I want to break the weapon, though that effort is excessive. With its immense muscles being larger than the less skilled Mirka, the mail won't slow it down any more than what armour they normally wear. I expect bursts of speed to compensate for its size, primarily thrusts that take advantage of its much greater reach._

 _If I'm to defeat this one, I need to get close and use this weapon at half-sword to overwhelm their defence. Unless I can accurately throw a knife at this range to its face, which is terribly unlikely; I've spent several hundred hours with swords, not throwing blades._

"… _Et voilà_ , Kayaba. Here's a good fight for you. Much more entertainment than that pack of nine wolves from ereyesterday."

They had faced each other without movement for an extended time, not even shifting closer or farther apart to provide a sense of progression or cause simple mistakes. But now the man in grey was ready to begin – and it was clear that his opponent was as well.

—~—

Swordsman and spearman closed suddenly, weapons arcing in attempts to speak death. An overhead cut to force the viper-quick spearhead to the ground parried and flowed into a swift counter, but did not keep the pole weapon immobile long enough for an advantage to be taken. In the same way that his opponent did, the soldier only used the Strike mechanic to enhance the speed of each attack and not to guide his blade in its path. Timing each movement was easier than one might expect, but nevertheless difficult to use effectively – _the system must have incorporated this misuse of the mechanic as a part of the advanced combat features, for a mob to be using this technique._

One thrust of the spear flew for his right shoulder, beat off its line by a half-sword arc and countered with a false-edge cut to the neck. It passed over the Mirka's head, singing sharply as it sliced the air with incredible speed. As the spear whipped back to his own neck, his blade's hilt jerked upward in interception and forced the spearhead above his head. Not wasting an instant, the soldier snapped his blade out to strike the right hip, the first wound of the fight.

A dull clash of a tempered steel edge on links of wrought iron reached his ears, enhancing the cry of pain that accompanied his blow to the pelvis. In retaliation, the Mirka lashed out for his leading hand with furious pace – and met the minimal resistance of a flowing blue-grey cloak as Arken pivoted off the line to attack the side of its right knee. His weapon's foible struck the joint with immense force, jerking the leg as bones were displaced – including the kneecap, which tore from place audibly as his blade swept back to a middle hanging-point guard, waiting for the next move and closing off his own wide openings.

The spearmaster grimaced at the injury, but kept unexpectedly quiet as it turned to face him again. It was quick to adopt a guard that let the leg rest yet not sacrifice the quality of warding. _I need to slip through, without plain strength or speed. This one is too skilled to miss a feint – ah, but a half-feint utilising their own effort to line up…_

He swept the centre of percussion 'round in that half-feint as if to strike across at the lower neck, though truly aiming for the left temple. In expected fashion, the Mirka raised its spear's rear quarter in a rising parry – but the man in grey twisted his wrists ever so slightly, enough to angle the edge so the blade skimmed his opponent's deflection and carried on directly into the iron helmet at the point where it protected that weak point in the skull called the temple.

 _ **KRASH.**_

Bone shielded by skin, horsehair padding and iron was broken by the sudden, vicious impact. Fragments stuck into the very cerebrum they had been built to protect, less damaging than the whiplash but nevertheless dangerous. A startled, gasping shout escaped the spearman as it reacted to being struck with concussive force in the head, accompanied by a stumbling and reflexive attempt to recover its stance that strained the torn knee. Agony flooded the beast's brain, the «Crippling Blow» rendering it immobile for more than enough time to end the fight.

 _It is decided._

He lashed out with the pommel with force that shattered the humanoid's lower jaw, forcing a spray of blood and a distorted cry of pain from his opponent. Before any more sound could escape bloodied lips, the soldier brought the acute point of his greatsword 'round to bear and swiftly drove it into the palate of the «Mirka Spearmaster», piercing through both the temporal and occipital lobes to instantly kill the beast.

The «Critical» was so vicious that all four hundred ninety remaining health points fell from the meter in just a fifth of a second.

 _Done._

 _Ten in five days._

 _Not as arduous as expected, I think._

—~—

Breathing deeply to try and calm his swiftly beating heart – to little avail, aside from a hint of placebo – the soldier pulled his blade free of the bloodied wound and let it sink into the soft soil as he himself straightened up and set his gaze on a distant point of unfocus.

"… So, is this what you desired, Kayaba Akihiko? A level of realism that destroyed— no, quite utterly _obliterated_ dismissals of Virtual Reality as anything less than real? Irrefutable proof that people truly **lived** in an Incarnating Radius such as this? A way to prove that each of the actions in worlds outside our home reality – places where we nonetheless exist – still have meaning for and impact upon us?"

The words were slow, deliberate.

He understood that people would be inexorably drawn to his duel – another one-versus-one battle between the grey greatswordsman and one of the Mirka – and that they would continue to be within his reach for a few moments more. While he was alone yet still a notable player, was his opening.

"If such was your intent, it is a success; for one classification it. The world here is real. Death in this place is ever-present. Every kind of morally wrong act is possible, even if unrecorded, while the morally sound are limited – albeit within expectations. Simultaneously, there is an audience to all of this that cannot disregard what they see. Infinitely more so than that ineptly named 'reality television', the actions and reactions, the intents and perceptions, the instincts and deliberations of each person here are unfiltered, honest."

Arken was, not that he knew, gazing directly at one of the livestream feed sources. Hazel eyes always were rather uncommon; they held more gazes to his own than were normally engaged with the screens displaying death as much because of their nature as their owner.

"Even if I have misjudged, the effects of this are undeniable. If sources serve rightly, well over _nine_ _thousand_ suicides have occurred since day one. Near ten percent of those who were first trapped here; more deaths than any one terrorist attack in over thirty-two years."

He blinked slowly, breathing through his nose; a measured pause.

"It is difficult to live here. Any more than survival is a dream at present. But people who don't choose to give up are most often quite good at that."

The edge of his mouth curled in an almost-smile.

"So far, I have endured ten days of what most would call hell. The determination I have will see me through the days that remain until that very last battle in this campaign, be they hundreds or even thousands, when the «Final Floor Boss» is surely defeated and we are free. That day will bring the sweet release from the grip of these chains and I will celebrate it with every other person freed."

This man in grey with his simple blades piqued the interest of those within the system of Cardinal. Intent on the finish, oh so fiercely. Why? For what reason? They did not know. One's own life was not enough for such strength, after all. Far too many examples had cemented that within themselves.

"To ensure the oath kept, I shall see the end."

—~~—

{2124}

Arken strode out of the «Occident Forest», visage impassive despite his weariness, with his two-hander slung over his back and sidesword in hand. The sky had grown dark hours ago, but he was used to working in similar poorly-lit conditions and barely noticed. Even the resultant increase in general mob aggression was met with an almost casual indifference; it had only been enough to draw out his knives and sidesword when fighting, increasing his rate of attack and making each encounter even _more_ brief than in the day. Accompanied by the increase in experience derived from more dangerous opponents, he knew that he was able to gain as many points towards his «Player Level» in three hours as he had in a morning's five.

Not a minute later, he was walking about the outside of «Ratel», to find those people that had agreed with him on a meeting of sorts. They were just ten days in – and _already_ there were several important factors to address regarding the way things worked. The soldier in grey already knew some of them: nearly five thousand beta testers, one thousand of them certified experts in armed Medieval and / or Renaissance combat; a simply alarming number of player suicides and what that entailed; an incredibly intricate subsystem for mob spawns and their various capabilities intermixed with surprising revisions to the post-beta release; and the enigmatic threat that was the Mirka.

He found the first easily enough – the man who went by the name of Thinker, a slim sabreur with intelligent eyes yet an uncertainty about him. Thinker was chief of the net gaming information site _MMO Today_ and had been since its inception quite some years ago. To say that the umber-haired man was standing out would be no lie: he was quite literally standing a dozen metres out from the town's western gate, casting his gaze around for the others. A few metres closer to the gate was his second and co-founder, the silver haired Yulier, firm and yet of rather gentle voice. She was more tense, but subtly so; the tells being her grip on her weapons – a blacksnake whip and matching backsword – as well as eyes that flicked swiftly from point to point. Her own armour was more substantial, but not enough to impede upon her complete freedom of movement. Both wore forest-green jacks of plate and taupe padded chausses, likely accompanied by open-faced helmets that were hidden away within the quick-access nodes of their inventories.

"Ah, Arken." Thinker nodded as he noticed the soldier's cloak. "You're here early."

"Have you seen any of the others yet?" Yulier asked, forgoing a greeting of her own in her distracted state.

The man in grey shook his head. "I have been away from the town for the past few hours. Although, I should say that I would expect Argo here at the exact minute we agreed upon – no later, no earlier."

Both nodded their understanding. "Knowing her, that makes sense," the sabreur said.

At that, the soldier let a smile slip onto his face briefly, hidden behind his falling-buffe. Before he could muse further, though, another person arrived for the meeting.

"Hey there! Good to see you all still in one piece," the «Senior Expert Tester» Kaikaku called out. The man was distinctly recognisable: a few centimetres shorter than Arken, a touch broader and quite well-muscled. Under a shock of burgundy hair that brushed thick brows, his features were smoothly worn, as if he were older than he truly was. Warm chestnut eyes flicked almost casually between people – which, along with his openly amiable personality, belied his impressive skill with and knowledge of both Medieval and Renaissance weapons, especially polearms of any variation.

He wore a leather brigandine over hauberk for his torso, along with greaves over his mail chausses and a transitional Italian sallet with bellows visor. The partisan he wielded bore a haft longer than he was tall, with a broad, almost leaf-like blade that was common to the weapon type. As it was, the pole weapon was presently slung across his back, held by a rig that kept the head protected from ruination while maintaining ease of access.

In return to his greeting, Thinker smiled, saying, "The same to you, Kai."

"Un. Word is that you've been busy," Yulier added, nodding her own welcome.

Arken simply inclined his helmeted head before Kaikaku replied. "You could put it that way. There's quite a lot that we need to deal with, after all."

"Why else would one of the ten «Senior Expert Testers» request for a quiet meeting of a handful of key players from _me_?" came an amused voice with unusual inflection.

Argo had now arrived, as exactly on time as was expected of her by the soldier: accurate to the half-minute. She wore her customary cloak and impish grin, standing by the grey swordsman's left side. Thinker stifled a yelp at her sudden arrival, while Yulier frowned slightly and Kaikaku chuckled. The man in grey let a smile grace his lips again – and even though his face was still hidden behind the lames of his falling-buffe visor, he saw her head shift as if to acknowledge him.

"Your timing, Argo, is exact as always," Kaikaku smiled. "And, yes, that is why I wanted this little gathering to happen."

Yulier frowned further. "But, why such an eclectic group? Arken is a solo player – and I've never even heard of Diavel or Lind, the two who aren't here yet. They're both «Unit Leaders», yes, but I don't know anything about them as people."

"Diavel and Lind are both Level 4, both in charge of ten-person «Units» and both arriving here from «Tolbana» after a brief excursion into the «First Floor Labyrinth» together. The only players at higher Levels are Arken and perhaps a dozen other solo players," Argo offered at a rapid pace.

"Six hundred Cor, for that information," the man in grey supplemented. "Only three of the five pieces were new to you, each one valued at two hundred forty Cor individually but marked down by no less than sixteen percent altogether."

The information broker laughed. "Grey-kun knows me too well. But yeah, six hundred Cor."

Thinker stared wide-eyed at Arken's interjection, while his second grumbled discontentedly as she paid the broker her dues.

"It's rude to stare, Thinker," Kaikaku smiled, pulling the sabreur from his dazed state.

"Aa, I was just— I, eh… Gomen-nasai" he stumbled through his apology.

"Grey-kun doesn't mind; he's used to worse~"

"Argo," the man in question almost sighed.

In return, the petite young woman pouted rather childishly, saying, "What's wrong with that?"

"Little enough to those with no sense for innuendo – a collective I am _certain_ you do not belong to."

While Yulier suppressed her reaction and Kaikaku quite simply maintained his ever-present amicable smile, the sabreur held a rather puzzled frown for some moments. As Argo gave in to the soldier's silently disapproving body language, Thinker's expression altered dramatically thrice in a single second – shock, disgust and then composure – as he came upon the realisation.

"Fine. For now, I'll refrain," the info-broker ceded.

Arken smiled faintly and nodded, turning towards the bearing from which his «Perception» skill had discerned the approach of just two human-sized bipeds – _the players coming from «Tolbana», one would think._ Only Argo noticed what his shift in stance actually signified and thusly cast her own «Perception»-enhanced gaze in the direction he was facing; the others began another conversation without them.

Eventually, the two decided to pass on that the last members of the impromptu gathering were arriving with simultaneous declarations:

"They are in sight."

"They're here now."

The three glanced about until they noticed which direction both had their gazes fixed. By the time that Diavel and Lind were within earshot, three pairs of eyes had located the two men and begun initial assessments of them both, while two pairs compared previous encounters with each man's present state.

Diavel stood as tall as Kaikaku and was as slim as Kemuri, but his similarities with other people Arken knew ended there. His thick bangs were just long enough to brush his shoulders, while he kept the rest short, all of it that same blue-black the soldier had selected for his original avatar. The man's eyes were a strong azure, firmly determined even as he said his greetings. There was no doubt that he was a «Unit Leader» in anyone's mind.

Similar in build and a centimetre or so shorter, Lind had longer and thinner hair – a shade of brown like café latte – held in a low ponytail. His own eyes were a cold auburn, far more reserved and critical in appraisals. To the grey swordsman and the umber broker-spy, he appeared more a tactical fighter than leader.

Both wore canvas-shelled brigandines with silvery plate and mail, as if to reinforce their association, though that which Lind wore was dyed ultramarine to match his pulwar where Diavel wore cerulean in concert with the sword-silhouette device seen on his heater shield and his blade's scabbard.

"Evening, everyone," the knight in cerulean began. "Apologies for our late arrival."

"Not an issue, Diavel," Kaikaku calmly replied.

Lind nodded, letting his gaze cast over the others present quietly. _He's not interested in the spotlight, it seems. Interesting._

"So, now that we're all gathered, shall we begin?" Thinker inquired, echoed by Yulier.

Affirmation came in its varied forms from each individual present. With that, the first of many meetings between prominent individuals began.

—~~—

{2159}

Nearly thirty minutes after the gathered had progressed beyond introductions, their discourse had grown rapid and intense; the debate with relation to the Mirka and what should be enacted to deal with said threat had reached an unrestrained degree of frenetics.

"We need to remove the problem as efficiently and effectively as possible, which me—"

"—won't work, we don't have the strength in numbers or prowess to even attempt the virtual reality equivalent of genocide here and yo—"

"—isn't enough of us to do anything aside from clearing, because there's too ma—"

"—me?! Didn't you listen when I said it was the only way for u—"

"— _only_ way? You make me laugh; we can quite easily avoid them without any more effort than we exert during curr—"

"—there's more than enough active players across this entire «First Floor» to make it—"

 **"QUIET."**

The collected people halted their verbal sparring with similar expressions of surprise. After some moments of confusion, five pairs of eyes settled on Arken after the realisation that _his_ voice was that most startlingly projected, calm baritone which had pierced through their unnecessary din.

The grey soldier inclined his head. "Thank you." Seeing that they appeared to expect more, he added, "Now, wouldn't it be far more appropriate if this were undertaken in a civilised manner? This constant interruption is unnecessary and quite unhelpful to progressing this meeting beyond its third issue."

They remained silent, prompting the single person who hadn't been surprised – Argo, of course – to ask: "What, then, d' _you_ think of them, Grey-kun?"

"My own perspective on the Mirka is that they are an unavoidable and prominent threat, requiring a fully-equipped and properly trained standing army with indomitable cohesion to most effectively rid ourselves of them. Lacking that, as we evidently are, the necessary solution is to ruin the structure of leadership – eliminate the «Floor Boss» and its immediate subordinates with subtlety. Follow that requirement for universal escape provided by the creator of this reality."

"Ninety thousand people would definitely fulfil the numbers for a standing army," the knight mused in quiet approval.

Argo frowned. "But, the actual effective number of combat ready players available presently is maybe two percent of said ninety thousand, with around eight percent of _that_ number active on this side of the «First Floor»."

"Exactly why I have been thinking of how best we may adapt what is known of asymmetrical irregular warfare to this… campaign," the man in grey said.

"Asymmetrical?" Thinker was clearly puzzled.

"A form of warfare where the forces engaged in it consist of drastically differing numbers and / or tactics," Diavel supplied. "I can see why you have considered it, Arken. Acting as what is more or less a guerrilla unit is our best bet."

"'Special forces' would be more appealing. Asymmetrical warfare is not the same as guerrilla warfare, after all."

"Hmn? What do you mean by that, Argo?" Yulier asked the info-broker.

She turned to the other woman with a slight smile. "For promotion, of course. Public relations. We'll be watched by the others stuck here, not just the audience that lies on the outside," the broker-spy answered. "Rather than the haphazard guerrillas fighting against the ruthless regime, we should be the lethal special operations unit that destroys the warfaring behemoth with a precisely crippling single strike."

"Liberation Force, or Freedom Alliance, would be better for our PR, I think, if we want to draw in more players. Reinforce that these people are doing this to liberate everyone from this living hell," added Diavel.

Yulier hummed. "And who would lead that force?"

Each person present contemplated the question. There were four «Unit Leaders» present – Thinker, Kaikaku, Diavel and Lind – but, thus far, Lind had not displayed any inclination toward leading over Diavel and Thinker was more of a strategist and interpersonal coordinator; he was not known for any swordsmanship of his own. Yet, the remaining two were comparatively suitable to the overarching leadership position for the whole of the warfaring force, both being skilled vanguard leaders during the «Closed Beta». Within seconds of the question being asked, it became evident which were the candidates on everyone's mind.

"I think Diavel would be most well-suited."

As a concession from Kaikaku, the decision seemed to be essentially confirmed. Nonetheless, there was some surprise found on most faces.

"Not you yourself? You are almost immediately recognisable, as a «Senior Expert Tester», and your leadership and combat skills are impressive, if the forums spoke true of the «Closed Beta»," Thinker inquired.

The partisan-wielder expressed his negative reply with one shake of his head. "That very fact in and of itself is as much a bane as a boon now. Many will see me as not having done enough to attempt the restoration of order to things on that initial day – and I don't see any valid reason to blame them. I, like most betas, simply made my way to one of the nearest settlements. Diavel here, however, gathered himself a «Unit» while he tried his best to bring some semblance of order to the unruly mess around the «First City». That success was leagues ahead of what I myself and most others who could impact the situation actually did."

"It was not so grand an effort, Kaikaku," the knight himself interjected. "Really, it was a simple method to quickly gather myself a group that I could easily grind with to a solid level before anything else. People mistook it for a grand action and I couldn't convince them otherwise. Lind can attest to that."

The thus-far silent pulwar-wielder nodded, "I was – and still am – his second-in command; while his voice definitely carries easily with a firmness that leads well, it wasn't the, quote, 'golden thunder' people were describing it as after he arrived at the fields around the «First City» that second day."

"Ah, I remember that, 'golden thunder'," Diavel let a chuckle escape him. "Sometimes people choose the strangest words. But, if you doubt that people will as easily follow you, Kaikaku, because of your prominence in the beta possibly bringing disgruntlement from some players, I will accept the leadership position requested of me."

"It's settled, then," the «Senior Expert Tester» confirmed with a nod. Agreement from every other individual present brought the topic to its full conclusion.

"Now," Argo began, "what of the «Closed Beta Testers» themselves?"

—~~—

{2214}

Never let it be said that Arken was fond of these lengthy "sessions of debate". He would not term them 'boring', no, but perhaps 'excessive' and 'sesquipedalian' would be apt descriptors. Even now, he was faced with yet more indecision; the gathered people – all highly capable and skilled in their lines of work – could not even partially agree on what should be done with regards to the thousands dead.

The predicament came as thus: aside from the nine thousand seven hundred eighty-one suicides in the past fourteen days or so, one thousand five hundred seventy-two deaths due to other causes had occurred. Eight hundred ninety-seven of those occurred in the past five days, including most of the nine hundred forty-odd «Closed Beta Tester» deaths. Of course, the reason was the Mirka, but the more under-informed would not know or care about that – all they would consider in their minds would begin as ' _so many people… all dead'_ and end with ' _the beta testers are to blame for every single one'_ , respectively.

 _I feel the urge to laugh bitterly, scornfully at the mere thought of it. Yet, it is what the people here fear: the fickle crowd. As in far too many other scenarios, the uninformed are so quick to shift blame where it is far from due. One can hope for the assemblage to be suitably knowledgeable and appropriately sensible, but such hopes are so often dashed – common sense has never been common._

"How many non-betas do you expect to know who you are, Diavel?"

It was a question from Argo, who had alternated between _not_ interjecting with unrelated comments (in keeping with her promise to Arken) and offering distracted quips to add to the conversation. All the while, the broker took in and directed the flow of her network with quiet mutterings as she worked, multitasking with a most uncanny ease. Now, though, it seemed she had decided that progress had stagnated to a point where it needed some decisive action on her part.

"Ueh?" the knight grunted, startled by the suddenly direct address. "Aah, I don't know for certain. But some of them have been quite vocal in decrying the beta testers, as I said before. Chances are that at least one rather disgruntled player will feel the need to say something against us."

"One person."

The others frowned. "You know, you aren't exactly scot-free, either, Argo. Any alteration to mechanics as they were back in the beta will have _severe_ repercussions for the information you've included in your guidebook series," Thinker pointed out.

"Come on~" she flashed a smile, "don't you think I'm prepared for that? There's a good reason I'm keeping my best supplier of front-line information close. He's faced more Mirka walking through the west-side woods this week than most players managed to defeat during the «Closed Beta's» first boss fight."

Arken shifted to face Diavel, who stood beyond Lind to his right. "How many non-betas have you told about your being a «Closed Beta Tester» that aren't present?"

The man in cerulean paused. "Only two; my 3ICs." He glanced back at Argo. "And who is that 'best supplier'? I'd like to know his player name."

"That's gonna cost you some coin, Dia-kun," the broker smirked. "I don't give the names of my best so easily."

A sigh escaped the soldier upon seeing Argo's expression. "There's no need for that right now, Diavel. If you've only told two other people, why should you worry that anyone else recognises you? Of those forumites actively interested in the players of the «Closed Beta», only a handful entered the Special Release. They were as well-informed as non-betas could be, and as far from liabilities to you as reasonably possible." _She is quick to monetise those types of questions. It grows excessive, nearly irritating, at times._

"It is a worry, though. I understand now that it is nothing to fret over, but it will still be with me until after we defeat the «First Floor Boss»."

Seeing the wry smile, Arken nodded. _It is not hard to understand him._ At the thought, he deftly removed the falling-buffe of his burgonet, understanding on his face. "That much, I cannot dispute. Better to hope for the best while prepared for the worst than to expect no more than what you are ready for."

The knight smiled. "Those are good words to keep in mind. Arigatō."

"You know to be strong through each struggle. But, remember to be yourself in the hours aside. Holding up under the pressure is never easy; don't forget to lighten your load."

—~~—

{2301}

 _Aïe. Je ne sais pas. C'est un grand débâcle._

He stood in the middle of the room, devoid of any garb barring his undershorts. At this hour, the only light came from the slow-burning candle stood on the small table in one corner of the room, casting shadows that emphasised just how sharp his features were. The man known as Arken gazed without focus through the squarish window in the wall, which faced onto one of the major streets of «Ratel». If his audience could see into his room, they would have either shied from or stared at him, because of the way steel flashed like lightning in the candlelight.

As if to swift music that only he could hear, the soldier arced his great blade continuously about himself with lethal speed, interrupting his own movements at jarring moments – as if the actions were made with nothing more than a thin PVC pipe and not five-thirds of a metre of steel, despite a mass nearing two and a half kilograms. He never took a step forward or backward, thanks to the size of the room, but his swordsmanship made the most of what he was given, as if the room were instead a position to be held against numerous others. To that end, if one could imagine a group of armed assailants stood in opposition to him, his movements would make far more sense. A sudden cut downward to intercept one's lashing polearm, flowing into a low false-edge slash for another's legs as their longsword's thrust failed to reach, the follow-through interrupted swiftly by a flick of the foible up to deflect a kriegsmesser and an arc overhead to harshly arrest the progress of an axe whose wielder barely avoided being cleaved in counter. Despite perhaps half a dozen of these theoretical enemies, each viper-quick strike kept them from figuratively advancing.

Even though common logic would imply the disparity of numbers meant that the single man would eventually be worn out before the many, this man with his sword, 'Joe', was not a fighter that kept to convention. As a soldier, he had an endurance that outclassed most every type of person aside from equally skilled athletes. At the same time, as a swordsman, he had skill and strength in his arms to have his 'performance' continue beyond a quarter-hour. He had beyond three thousand hours of training in combat with such immense blades, along with yet more hours dedicated to those unarmed martial arts he had all but mastered beforehand. To be straightforward, the man – whether one knew him as 'Joe', Arken, Grey, or Soldier – was not average in his physical ability by any measure of human averages. He was not exceptional, but was certainly bodily strong enough to not have needed prior physical training before he entered the Australian Army.

The man never liked comparing himself to anything, but he was a keen hunter to sharp eyes and a lean direwolf to less combat-savvy viewers. It was all without importance to him, whatever the case. The only titles he respected were definitive.

—~—

A sharp pattern of knocks on his room's door brought the blade to a startling halt, followed by a series of gestures that brought a light tunic and trousers from his quick-access sub-inventory to cover himself, for the sake of decency. The blade simply sat on his shoulder, as ever.

"You may enter."

In stepped Argo; the only other person who knew that pattern, of course. The broker-spy wore her umber cloak with hood drawn up, even as their clocks displayed a time closing on midnight. As he expected, she didn't begin to speak until after she had latched the pine door behind herself – but, then, she also lowered the hood that obscured the majority of her face at any time. To say he didn't expect the latter action would be blithely laconic; he stood in place, unmoving as if stunned, for a number of heartbeats before the silence between them was broken.

"Hey… I'm here to, ah, ask you… something."

What he himself had yet to realise was the fact that sweat, a very real part of this «Realized World», held most of the properties that it was known for in their home reality, including the qualities that let it adhere skin to cloth and to turn pale fabrics at least slightly translucent. Of course, it meant that Argo was faced with the details of his musculature often hidden by all the armour he wore, leaving little enough to the imagination. Now, the best information dealer and investigative spy of Aincrad was not new to seeing men's physiques, but it had been a good while since she last saw someone with lean, purpose-built muscle like his own. Thus her uncharacteristic hesitation.

In return, she hadn't considered that he had yet to see her whole face; the whiskers marking both cheeks were often hidden by the shadows of her hood. Aside from that, she was not what someone would consider lacking by any means in the area of physical attractiveness either, rather, 'impishly cute' as someone more adept at putting it in words would decide most suitable, and he was one to appreciate beauty in whatever form it held when it crossed his path, using that reserved and subtle manner with which he approached most social interactions. So, the man took several moments to respond to her statement.

 _She's…_

… _well, expecting a response._ "Mmh. Something?"

"I need an item." _Straight to business._

"Tool or equipment?"

"Tool _s_ , plural, make that. The «Dancer's Blades»."

"Location?"

"«Archer's Peak», northernmost apex in the «Breaker Ridge»." **_That_** _one?_

"I know the one. Follow the «Diamantina River» to its source, situated nearer to the «Labyrinth» than not."

"Yup. There should be a cave on the western face, leading to the items in question."

"Is it essential in any sense?"

"Of course. From what I've picked up, these «Dancer's Blades» aren't exactly normal by the European-inspired standard around here. Given what the town NPCs say they can do to an opponent, I'm thinking they aren't knives, but claw-style weapons. And I'd like to use them."

" _Bhagunakha_ , they are in India, or the shuko of the ninja. Nasty things, but no better for defence than bare hands."

"I'm a third-dan karateka and a first-degree black belt in hapkido; it won't be a problem for me. I'm not trying to fight at the front, anyway."

A contemplative silence, his face unmoving as if paused during a film. "I'll meet you at the north end of the town square at zero five four five."

"Nice and early for seventy-eight kilometres."

"Unless you'd rather arrive well into the nighttime, that is," he replied.

"Maybe that'll make it more fun?"

"I'm sure we will face enough of that regardless."

"Eh, since Cardinal is targeting you for whatever reason, I guess that'll be the case."

"Thank you for your concern in regards to the anomaly. Truly, I appreciate it."

"Aah, your sarcasm is scathing as ever."

* * *

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 **[POSTFACE]**

 **~ Plated mail [also mail-and-plate or splinted mail] is neither plate nor conventional mail, instead armour consisting of small plates interconnected via mail-like links. It was often used as heavier armour in conjunction with sections of regular mail before full plate came to be.**

 **~ Argo's claws are, put simply, utterly vicious weapons. _Bhagunakha_ (literally "tiger's claws") were known to rip flesh to shreds quite easily, used both in duels to death and 'death wrestling' in India; some variants included a _bichuwa_ ('scorpion knife') blade attached to one end. _Shuko_ were the ninja equivalent, used to assist in climbing walls and trees as well as combat, where they covered most of the palm [seen in some later variants of _bhagunakha_ as well].  
[ _Tekagi-shuko_ were the combat-focused variant of _shuko_ with longer blades, much like the claws of James 'Logan' Howlett.]**

 **~ Introducing Diavel. As well as Lind, Thinker and Yulier. Agil, Klein, Kibaou and others will make their entrances later.**

 **~ A synonymous phrase to this chapter's title would be 'grotesque monotony'.**

 **– Song lyric excerpts are from Swedish House Mafia's 'Don't You Worry Child' featuring John Martin and NEEDTOBREATHE's 'Able', respectively the second verse and bridge / ending of each.**

 **– Next chapter will be from multiple points of view, both original and canon, given that it will consist of reactions to the events by members of the audience to this series of events.**

 **– Successive chapter will be from a canon perspective, possibly containing the First Floor Boss Fight (after so long). No promises, but it could happen.**

 **[Notable Changes:]  
** **2017.03  
** **• The Senior Expert Tester who makes an appearance is now known as Kaikaku.**


	5. GREETINGS – HAPLESS WITNESS

**[PREFACE]**

 **Here is the next instalment, covering multiple perspectives as mentioned previously. Note, the length is comparatively brief. (2017.04.02 publication)**

 ** _Song Selection:_ If you wish to listen to music in accompaniment to your reading, I would suggest 'Tessa' by Steve Jablonsky  & Dan Reynolds from the second location onwards.**

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **GREETINGS. HAPLESS WITNESS  
** {2032.11.08, Monday}  
{0837 Australian Eastern Daylight Time}  
{Crows Nest, Sydney}

Inside a grey Mustang GT on the Pacific Highway, a man of appearance somewhat related to the one known as Arken – unkempt jet hair reaching his shoulders, eyes ocean blue and his chin chisel-pointed rather than cleft, however – was blasting his car's horn, at the same time shouting at the complete standstill that he was amidst.

" _Bloody traffic… You there, in the tiny ZR-X! I've got places to be, you know –_ _ **and this is not one of them!**_ "

" _Niko, don't yell like that at the Yaris, even if its driver is a danger to others. It doesn't help with anything."_ The voice came from an old smartphone nestled in the centre cupholder. Its owner's tone was weary, stressed to a similar degree and yet more subdued.

" _This is something for me to actually do while my closest cousin is stuck in that_ **hellhole** _and I have to try to get on with my life as if it's nothing,"_ the driver, Niko, grunted in return, easing off the horn despite his frustration.

A sigh came in return. " _It's no help to him for you to make a ruckus, you know that. Nearly forty hours have passed and they're still adamant that nothing can be done. They'd have figured out at least some kind of plan by now if it was possible. All we can do is wait and hope for the best."_

" _I know all that, Mike,"_ he groused, " _but it doesn't make it any easier for any of us. Not doing anything doesn't sit well with me at all."_

His friend over the phone, whom he called Mike, hummed in understanding. " _I don't like it either, but it's not something we can change right now and he wouldn't want us spending all our time worrying our asses off about him either. Joe's more than capable of handling himself in a fight, you know that better than anyone else. He'll be fine."_

" _You're right. He's a lot better at all that than I am. I remember when he first told me he was planning on becoming a Commando, I was so surprised I couldn't think of anything to say for a long while; all I could manage was a weird grunt. Ever since he was a kid, he's been learning martial arts: taekwondo, jūjutsu, karate and even Italian Spadone. After all that, just when we thought he was done, Joe goes and joins the Army, meets you and the whole team, then learns basic and even advanced marksmanship. Now he's gone and Dived into a world where he can use most of those skills, if not all of them, to kick a madman's arse 'cause he didn't expect a soldier with over a thousand hours of sword training to take leave in Japan."_

" _Hah, that's it. Now, come on, you need to stay focused on the road and get yourself over here with the rest of us in one piece."_

" _Wilco, Staff."_

Traffic shuffled along until the highway merged onto the expressway and eventually flowed over the Harbour Bridge, leading to his destination: the grand old Hyde Park.

—~—

{0914}

" _You made it! Even with that Toyota cutting you off half the way over,"_ Staff-Sergeant Mike Byrne called out by way of greeting. He was swarthy, his eyes warm blue, standing nearly two metres tall and weighing in at over a hundred ten kilograms, his disposition as sunny as the beaches he grew up beside.

Niko chuckled. " _Yeah, even with the Yaris."_ He waved his hellos to the others present – Lance Corporal Selene Coburg, Sapper Theo Barrett, Trooper Aria Garner – before anything else. " _So, how's this all going to work? Who's doing what?"_

" _As the resident city-slicker and techie, you've been charged with figuring out where we bunk and when things are happening. Selene has the how of our observations down and Aria has command of other affairs during each session. Theo has control of data logging and advancement manoeuvres while I monitor the feeds. You can assist with things as needed."_

" _All that,"_ Niko wondered, " _and none of you have a computer here."_ He thumbed the strap on his messenger bag to emphasise his point.

" _Ah, but we do. I left mine in my car, along with Aria's. Theo and Mike have done the same."_ Coburg replied easily.

Barrett snorted. " _Come on, Nikodemos, did you think we had gone this far and hadn't thought to bring any computers? We're not_ that _out of it, even with all this happening to our old Average Joe."_

" _Whatever. You said I'm in charge of locale, yeah? Well then, let's get moving. I already have a place in mind."_

—~~~—

{2032.11.09, Tuesday}  
{1752 Japan Standard Time}  
{Kawagoe City, Saitama Prefecture}

 _It's been three days._

 _Three whole days._

 _I can barely believe it. But it… it's a fact._

 _My brother is trapped in there. One of over ninety-nine thousand people who has been locked into hell. And he's alone. Sure, he's met some people, but only for brief moments._

 _The only way out for anyone inside is thousands of kilometres away, if what they say is really accurate. He'll have to fight his way through tens of thousands of animals and unnatural monsters to get out. It'll take months, if not years._

 _And I… I can't— I'm not ready for that._

"Suguha-chan."

That soft voice pulled her from her thoughts, bringing her back to the room. She had disliked the room even when she had first stepped through its door: it was stiflingly sterile, as cold and unforgiving as that grey-blue contraption wrapped around her brother's head. But it was the only place where she could see him now. His physical body would waste away to utter lifelessness far more quickly without attendance from a hospital's staff. Here, at least, his unresponsive form of flesh and bones could be cared for and maintained while his mind controlled the virtual one.

"…Suguha-chan?"

 _I'm here, mother._

"Okā-san."

Had she been aware, the young woman may have noticed her mother's wince at the terse monotone in which she acknowledged the presence of the one who gave life to her some fifteen years ago.

"Sugu-chan…" A pause, long enough for her to measure the time passing between slow, shaky breaths. "Do you know what he's doing right now? He was in a meeting with his cloaked friend when I checked on him last, at lunchtime."

The hospital had provided an option for visitors to view those live perspective feeds dedicated to each patient, which was recorded for a more accurate determination of the manner of death but a vast majority opted out of seeing such displays. It was apparent that her mother spent time during each day to check up on the progress of her older brother as he continued to live, but those few minutes of activity were rarely easy to watch. After all, he was almost constantly out in the forest, longsword and javelins put to work as he did what was known simply as 'grinding'. It wasn't a pretty sight, in any sense; that methodical hunting (slaughter, really – he made it look so easy) of creatures natural and unnatural for the value of their remains.

"No…"

Suguha took a moment to raise her head from its place on her forearms, themselves resting on the edge of that hospital bed upon which her brother was laid supine.

"… I haven't been watching," she added, rubbing at her tear-stained eyes.

Kirigaya Midori, a reassuring presence in the life of this young woman, smiled with faint warmth. "Then we can see him together."

"Okay."

As she sat back in a provided chair, her mother operated the remote controls for the room's OLED display, in any other situation a regular digital television with on-demand selection, and it sprang to life, previously set to the specific livestream channel [SAO-PLAYER_Kirito] after that portmanteau had been confirmed as his username. As each player had been given a unique streaming channel alongside those primary channels, the undeniable majority of goings-on inside that hell relevant to every player could be, and were in fact being, recorded and observed from multiple angles.

"He's out in that forest again. Walking along the riverside, following it."

Indeed, he was. They had little idea of where he exactly was in that wood, although he was on his way from «Horunka» to the next town, «Kakuzen». His longsword was in his off-hand: outside its sheath for ease of use, ready to defend and to counter.

"So… _cold_." Suguha's tone held notes of concern. Her brother's mind had begun to alter significantly and she had no method or tool to affect it.

Even when compared with his distant, diffident demeanour before, the sharp and stony scowl he wore now was so unlike that boy of years past who was reserved yet emotive and so freely optimistic. It was painfully foreign, to see a family member so wry and woeful.

"Mmn. I'm worried he might change too much. He's been alone since the beginning, without any constant company. There's no-one really with him."

Too much longer, her mother realised, and he would begin to break, to fall beyond the event horizon. They could only hope he would meet someone that could fix his brokenness before it became irreparable.

 _This_ was why no person with close relation to a victim wanted to see how their friend or loved one fared inside the Incarnating Radius. It was an Arena where no external influence could bring about positive outcomes; the closest anything had come in recent times to being a true living hell for those people affected. 'Look, and never touch.'

—~~~—

{2032.11.10, Wednesday}  
{1629 Japan Standard Time}  
{Saitama City, Saitama Prefecture}

"She's not getting out, son. We established that as undeniable fact three days ago."

"I know, father. But it doesn't truly ease my guilt. It was my thoughtlessness that let her utilise my rig, even when our key meeting regarded an issue with NerveGears themselves – said issue being that it could be overcharged and thus destroy a wearer's brain. Of course, there was also the issue of settling our management of servers and running costs, although that was far less consequential, despite the insistence of Nobuyuki-san."

"Hmm. I understand that only those engineers from our Progress division's R&D team knew what the problem was with every NerveGear, not even ARGUS' engineers had realised it. Nobuyuki-san had said over the phone that he thought their faults were simply a battery pack issue, as the power source had proved to be problematic during its development and required an output increase – namely, that selfsame alteration which was determined to have weaponised it. To that extent, you were not at fault for letting your sister use the NerveGear rig: our R&D chiefs knew what was wrong, but they weren't our direct reports and so their message had to traverse the web of command. By the time it reached you and I, it was too late for our actions to have substantial impact."

"… Thank you, otō-san."

"Un."

"There really is nothing we can do for her, now."

"Sadly, yes. All that is possible for us is to be an audience – but, that is not something I feel would help anyone. Least of all ourselves."

"True…"

"Aside from that, you wish to see her sometime soon, yes? You can have the rest of this week off. Chief Executive Officer's orders."

"Oh— thank you, again, father. It is not necessary, though appreciated greatly nevertheless."

"You are my son, Kōichirō-kun, as well as an employee in a complex situation with regards to family. I will not have you kept at your desk if it is detrimental to your health."

"Thank you. I will… I will see how she is faring and let you know."

—~—

{1739}

Yūki Kōichirō exited the hospital's elevator with a firmness to his posture that came from years of being in a technology business. There was a steely determination in his expression and stance, formed to dissuade those who thought a young man did not belong in the upper echelons of any corporation. In several ways, as a matter of fact, he was more qualified at age twenty-five than many who tried to dissuade him were at their present ages, due to his thorough education in the ways that large-scale organisations function. He would not be easily swayed by those who sought to manipulate the environment of his father's own incorporated business to their benefit and his detriment.

Here, in this private medical facility, however, the well-built young man's body language was rather imposing. A businessman who was intent on his destination and allowed no deviation from it was not by most standards amicable, after all. Nurses did their best to avoid him, doctors hastily danced around him if they crossed paths and other staff kept to their routines without more than a single glance his way. Visitors either shied away quickly or briefly stared before wilting under his rather intense gaze, even if it was not turned toward them. As it was, Kōichirō himself did not realise the discomfort and disturbance he was causing, being so focused on his own ruminations and recollections.

… _She was so_ alive _when we were away from the expectations of our parents. So deft with words and yet pointedly vocal with everything to me, being in the same boat. Only I know about her disdain for Nobuyuki-san aside from herself; only I know how much she truly wishes that propriety would be less oppressive. She never tried to fence Olympic-style with me, though she handled both épée and sabre rather well for a beginner and I had hoped she would eventually take to the sport._

 _Now, I worry she may not come back, that all I will have of her for the rest of my life shall simply be these memories. It is a destructive, hellish place she has been trapped in. I have little hope for a swift progression to escape; that devil of a man, whose name I refuse to repeat, shattered many people's spirits with his declaration. And, yes, she is a strong one, but it is never impossible to make a person fall apart._

He knew which room it was, spent no time on even seeing the others around him. As he stepped near, the door opened with a faint whir of electric motors and gave him access to the room where his sister lay. Only when he was at her bedside did he pull himself from his thoughts.

 _Oh._

She was just _there_ : perfectly supine on that blank hospital bed with all the typical monitors attached to her body— yet with a jarring, most unbecoming motorsports-inspired helmet of steel blue polymer set over her head, one thick black cable snaking from its occipital centre into the wall socket beyond the headboard.

"…Asuna-chan."

 _She's…_

 _Dammit._

 _My sister is trapped in there. I don't even need to see what she's doing to know what she's feeling: alone, unable, fearful. It's obvious. Too real to be a game, in every way—_

He clenched a fist to better restrain his tongue from a string of curses.

— _and I can't do anything to help her get free._

 _All I can do is wait, watch, worry._

"Why couldn't it be me lying there? Why did fate choose you and not myself? If I were there, in your place, I could at least know you were safe…

"Now, here… I don't know. I don't even know if I want to know quite yet. It terrifies me."

—~~~—

{2032.11.14, Sunday}  
{0917 Australian Eastern Daylight Time}  
{Building 924, Sydney}

The team had been looking into the situation for a week now, testing what they could and couldn't do. Niko's contacts granted them use of a lot within a building in the heart of Sydney that was presently unused and disused. It suited their few needs well enough, with a halfway decent connection to the free wireless network that was spread across the central business district and enough insulation to keep out that heavy, stinking heat of Sydney's spring-summer transition. It left them with only the simple task of moving in.

Each person had a seat 'round a collapsible squarish table to demarcate their station – display viewer, Internet trawler, data scanner, program wrangler – as well as a cooler box for drinks and light snacks. The exception was Garner's seat, as her computer was used for general activity on an intermittent basis, unlike the others. She thus needed only a chair and a place to sit her laptop when it was not in use, a place which came to be beside their cooler.

—~—

As Garner walked out of the building for an errand, a shout startled the air inside.

" _ **Bloody—shite!**_ _He just chopped its_ _ **head**_ _off!"_

Byrne's cry brought Niko to the display as Joe, known as Arken in that hell, shook gore from his blade after the swift decapitation that ended his first considerable fight of the day. The newly shortened corpse of a «Mirka Bladesman» slumped most unceremoniously onto grass nearly two metres from himself, blood pouring from thick arteries that still carried large volumes of bodily fluid. It was a grisly sight, of flesh torn from its place and bones exposed to the elements by massive, uneven wounds – a left forearm missing half of its muscles and right side of the beast's ribcage a pulverised ruin of jagged white fragments, to name but only those lacerations penultimate to its beheading.

Beside them, Barrett stared at the display in stunned silence, still surprised that his good friend, 'Average Joe', really could wield a sword like he'd always claimed. It was a strangely fascinating sight, to see someone whom you had known for a good while suddenly do something new and be undoubtedly adept at it.

" _It's triple-A-grade filming combined with real bloody lives at stake. Makes for shockingly engaging content,"_ Niko muttered, once he pried his eyes from the dead to note his cousin's view count. It was easily one of the highest amongst player-specific channels, with 8,217 IP addresses actively watching and no less than 16,800 total addresses logged as having watched at least 300 cumulative seconds each.

" _I'll say,"_ Barrett agreed. " _Like a serial drama, except for the fact that it's uncut and involves more R-rated content in a single fight than a whole chapter from 'A Song Of Ice And Fire'."_

Off to the young men's left, Coburg sighed. " _Of_ course _you would reference that series in this situation. Yes, it's not an unreasonable choice, but your comparison isn't really suitable. You know that George R.R. Martin's skill isn't in depicting bloody ground combat in detail; he didn't write his stories to grant his readers a closer look at the nature of mêlées, but to depict the political manoeuvres behind them. Not saying his combat scenes were inaccurate, but they weren't anywhere near as engaging as these."_

" _I see your point, Sel,"_ Nikodemos nodded. " _But that's not so important right now, you know. We aren't sideline spectators here – we're trying to get something through to the other side."_

Byrne nodded ruefully. " _Yeah, you're right. It's my fault for distracting everyone, sorry."_

" _No need for that, Mikey. Seeing something like that would have surprised just about anyone. There's nothing wrong with reacting like a normal person,"_ replied Barrett.

The staff-sergeant frowned. " _But we aren't exactly normal people here. We've all seen our fair share of nasty shite, you know? We aren't unfamiliar with that kind of thing,"_ he mused.

" _Good point. It might be the nature of it, though: we see bullet wounds, knife gashes and injuries from explosions and suchlike, not a man going full HEMA on a poor monster's ass to the point of severing that thing's head from its body. That's a different kind of nasty, wouldn't you say?"_

—~~~—

{2032.11.14, Sunday}  
{1124 Japan Standard Time}  
{Kawagoe City, Saitama Prefecture}

Kirigaya Suguha had managed to get through the week, by some miracle. From a state of minimal function to one of reserved but intense effort in all her activities. She had little time to make light conversation, it seemed: she was near-constantly moving, doing things that didn't require her to say many words. if any. People worried, but didn't press the issue once they realised she frequented one specific hospital for a rather personal reason.

On this work-free day, she spent her early morning with her shinai in hand, constantly executing a basic striking pattern that required minimal cognitive strain – a mind-numbingly repetitive effort to keep herself from concentrating on her brother's entrapment in that hell known as Aincrad. Simple, yet surprisingly effective.

The Kirigaya family dojo was spacious, having enough room for a dozen kendoka to engage in individual bouts without worry for interference. In years past, the building had been host to scores of kenshi that all became champions of kendo, as a faithful reconstruction of that dojo which had hosted several kenjutsu masters before it. Now, it housed two masters of bokutō and shinai: her grandfather – world-weary yet sharp Kirigaya-sama – and herself. Her older brother had long ago ceased his kendo training, having claimed many reasons why he did not wish to continue. Their grandfather's response had been refined and yet vicious: a duel between one student of two years and one master of two score years that would end only when that student landed a clean strike. To intercede, she had promised to train enough for both of them – and she did, certainly. She was one of the best in their region and the whole nation, within her age bracket. Some even said that, while sixteen years old, Suguha could fight on even footing with those upper ranks of younger college-age kendoka, though she had never tried.

Therefore, in some ways, it was unsurprising that she had turned to her bamboo-and-wood sword for a method of coping. Her mother, if not anyone else, understood; and, although her grandfather didn't quite see, he respected her desire for time to herself. All the same, she found herself alone in their family dojo with no more than her shinai to keep her company.

—~—

" **Haa—!"**

Suguha had said that her preferred strike combination was kote-men, wrist-head. It was a simple yet effective pattern to practice repeatedly: cut over to the right hand, then flick back across for the head, like as not aided by a parry. Two movements of her hands, each in coordination with a motion with either foot. In many ways, however, it was far more complex than first appearances suggested. To simply attempt the manoeuvre at any moment in a bout would be a fallacious attempt at victory; her variation on kote-men required, as it was with other patterns, an instinctive knowledge of when and where to strike. That ability to know how to decide a battle in one's favour through perception was indispensable to any fighter, no matter their manner of combat. She knew as much, and had all but mastered that skill herself to improve her swordplay. The results of it spoke for themselves – Suguha was amongst the twenty most skilled female high school kendoka in all of Japan and a three-time regional champion. Of course, she won herself a tournament in her region even before learning of reading a fight, but the national stage demanded another order of skill from its competitors.

" **Ai—!"**

It has been said that a master fears more the one who has performed a single attack ten thousand times than the opponent who has performed ten thousand attacks but once. Recursion, after all, was progenitor of excellence. The kendoka had long ago surpassed that minimum; now, she simply continued her repetitions in catharsis and habit. It felt, to her, like the easiest way to cope with the situation regarding her brother.

Her mind let itself slip into a trance-like state, with only the subconscious at work to keep her moving through the pattern. Every motion mechanically perfect, every _kiai_ resounding in synchronisation with sixty-four beats per minute as would be kept by a metronome. With four hundred ninety grams of shinai in hand, stretching one hundred fourteen centimetres in full length, Kirigaya Suguha was a vision of determination when viewed from a distance – and an image of depression as a result of grief when seen face to face. Even to see her without any sense of what was occurring in her life, a sombre atmosphere emanated from her.

" **Kaa—!"**

 _Not enough. Still not enough. Three thousand five hundred twenty – not enough._

One must always try to keep moving, if one would rather not face being left behind. But, letting go of the chains often means letting their barbed hooks rip through your hands.

—~~~—

{2032.11.20, Saturday}  
{1033 Japan Standard Time}  
{Saitama City, Saitama Prefecture}

"She's gone outside…?" Yūki Shōzō could barely be heard, quiet surprise clear on his face. He stood by his daughter's physical side, wondering what her virtual form was now going about so suddenly.

"Given the accuracy of these streams, I would say she has," the nurse nodded, contralto voice calmly unobtrusive. She had been taking care of the prone form of that young woman in question personally, at the weary older man's request. Eighteen years of age, all her life in front of her – snatched away by the psychopath along with a hundred thousand others. It deeply saddened her, the way that things had suddenly changed for the worse in a world that was promised to be better than this one.

"Nani—" Yūki Kōichirō wondered briefly, seated on the other side of the hospital bed. "Oh. Her bachelor's degree. First round of exams."

"Of course she'd remember. Kyōko-san never let her forget about them."

"Day fourteen, now, sirs. If you were wondering," the nurse offered quietly. "I do have to go now, though. I've been called elsewhere."

Shōzō smiled faintly in her direction, inclining his head. "Thank you, miss." She nodded and excused herself in return.

Kōichirō moved to see the display for himself. "A rapier? Hmm…" he mused. _Did she take after my own preferences?_

"Ueh? What do you mean by that?" Shōzō stepped closer, standing beside his son.

"She has a slender blade at her side I would call a rapier, built for one-handed thrusting and maintaining a distance, but she hasn't fenced with me aside from that one time…" Kōichirō frowned, chewing his lip. "Hell, I don't know if she has any idea how the FullDive operating system even works – how to use the universal interface. We've always said it's intuitive, yes, but a person can perform thousands of different hand gestures and we have no idea who she's met so far and if they were helpful or not."

"I pray she does know…" _Praying and hoping is all we can do, but it might just be enough._

"Mmh. I do, as well."

—~—

"Ehh?" _She's moving with much more intent in her strides now, like when she's faced with a challenge._ "What is she doing?"

"If only we could listen to what they were saying… But, we can't tamper with anything. Too many ways it could go wrong."

"That would be quite helpful, though you're right."

"Is she leaving the city?"

"I think so. She's not walking to the main square, at least."'

"Sou desu…"

"We can only wait."

—~—

"No, no, don't— aah."

"Hmm?"

"Ooh; that's not going to work, she should know that. It's just gotten worse now."

"Nani? Is that—?"

"Yeh, she's fighting five of those at once. Only one is down, the others are beginning to surround her. They're all a combat level higher than she is."

"Uah? That's not good!"

"I think she's realised that too late. Imōto can't do this by herself; there's a reason why most people have been moving around in groups."

"If only someone who knows what they're doing could help…"

"Ah— look!"

"Oh, thank the gods, she'll live. A thousand blessings to that person."

"Wow, that player's good. Five seconds to take out all of them. With just a bow and four arrows, even."

"She's alive, son, that's all I'm worried about right now. You know, I think I might just thank that other person myself, when this is all over."

"Maybe I will, as well. I've got a feeling that we'll see more of them."

—~~—

{1817}

Yūki Kōichirō was surprised. He'd always known that his little sister was able to pick up on things easily, but this was more than he'd seen before. Over the course of this single day, she had gone from passably able to deftly adept with that blade in her hand. _Almost as if the blade is truly hers. Yet she's been wielding it for less than eight hours. I don't know what to make of it._

He pursed his lips, musing on what he'd seen. As he did, she decided to return to the city that she had set out from. Although the thought was not on his mind, the livestream had rather impressive cinematography; anyone could see as much. A dynamic, adaptive third person feed, it allowed much the same field of vision as the person being observed held, excluding their peripheral sight; to aid this feature, the OLED display curved 140°. Kayaba had created an incredibly powerful virtual-reality engine when his Cardinal first came to life; it literally drove each subsystem that ran every single process in the Incarnating Radius: from blood flow within all of the various character models to the thought patterns of non-players; from the destruction management of materials on every Floor to the probabilities that lay behind item creation and non-player reactions; from the nuances of each Floor's weather and climate to the filming practices used by each virtual livestream camera.

 _It does more than just support a computer game: it is a creator, destructor, manipulator and observer of its microcosm all at the same time. In many ways, it could be considered a deity with incredible power over those within its realm of influence._

 _And it has grasp upon the life of_ _my sister, while I can only observe from a distance_ …

If he could, he would doubtless dive into that hellish world in place of her— but the decision did not fall to him.

Thus, he waited, watched. A captive audience, if there ever was one.

—~~~—

{2032.11.20, Saturday}  
{1924 Australian Eastern Daylight Time}  
{Parliamentary Triangle}

" _Ah, Janoski, you have time for a chat before you go?"_

" _Indeed I do, Dukes. Are you wondering about Task Force Olympus, or the digger?"_

" _Just give me the gist of how they've been holding up and what they're up to, the ones we actually put in there."_

" _Nothing impressive, really – being an isolated group, more or less, they've done their own mapping of the Labyrinth, but it's a long journey. Given that the structure is a kilometre tall, we'd expect anywhere from well over three hundred to perhaps two hundred divisions of its verticality. Mikkelsen estimates there are two hundred fifty levels from the average ceiling height we've seen."_

" _Shit, a kilometre? So it's a_ megatall **maze** _?"_

" _By a clear margin, as well as being a hundred metres in diameter without any manner of step-backs or other external features to counter material strain. It would be an engineering marvel, if it were made in our reality."_

" _Well, the whole giant floating castle-thing that is Aincrad would be a bloody world wonder if it physically existed, wouldn't it?"_

" _You have me there. That aside, I've been trying to estimate just how long it will take for them to navigate to the uppermost reaches of the Labyrinth."_

" _Heh. Wait, you have? What's your results?"_

" _Anywhere from seven to twenty-two days. Anything more specific is inaccurate conjecture. There's not enough to go off of."_

" _Really? Well, shit. The task force isn't getting out anytime even remotely soon, then."_

" _Mmh. I've requested that they each receive electromyostimulation therapy so that they can remain fully operational afterwards, if they choose to continue their occupations. It's still pending, but it should pass through."_

" _Wouldn't that play havoc with the headpieces, though?"_

" _No, NerveGears are fully shielded against outside electromagnetic interference – that's part of why the units cover a user's entire head like a helmet, on top of their greater power output versus prototypes and high-density internal battery suite."_

" _Of course; I forgot attempts at interfering with individual NerveGear units haven't worked because of that little feature."_

" _That_ is _what the feature was implemented for, I believe. But it does not completely disfavour us, in that we can maintain the physical bodies of our agents. In some ways, it is simply an extended-duration mission that needs to be addressed in a similar manner to other such long term operations – but it is also rather different, at the same time."_

" _Yeah… Thanks for the outline of things, Janoski. Keep doing what you're doing."_

" _No worries, Dukes – and I will. See you tomorrow."_

" _See ya."_

* * *

~][~][~

* * *

 **[POSTFACE:]**

 **– Yes, this can be considered a filler instalment, if you wish to think of it as such. It has its purposes, though, and I must say that it's far from easy to write from multiple perspectives as is found above.**

 **~ Yes, the original characters have relevance to the story. No, they aren't going to disappear completely after this interlude. Chances are high that another such interlude with outside perspectives will come 'round in the approximate middle of the next arc.**

 **~ Next chapter follows another canon character's point of view, as mentioned in an earlier postface.**


End file.
